Locked
by sbgrrl
Summary: A simple haircut results in an unfortunate incident for Charlie. Can Don and his team get him out of trouble before something terrible happens?
1. Chapter 1

_I don't normally write Numb3rs and probably won't write beyond this story, which was originally published through Pyramid's Press. Still, I figured I might as well share it! While it's all written, there were always a few things I wanted to change and fix. So I'll do that and post as I get it done...of course, what I truly always wanted to do was come up with a decent title, and I'm still blanking on that. sigh_

_Oh, and when I wrote this Charlie had not re-obtained the right to drive. ;)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Charlie Eppes blew at an errant curl of hair. All blowing at it did was make his hair flop down, and it obscured even more of his vision. He wasn't making any progress on this particular formula anyway, he thought; it didn't make any difference if he could see the board or not. Frustrated, he erased the last, useless part of the chain for the sixth time. Some days, his brain fired fast and furious. Other days, like today apparently, nothing seemed to work in his favor at all. He put the chalk down on the tray with such definitive force that it broke into two pieces. At least he might get some paperwork done, and there was a huge stack of tests to grade. 

Where was Don with a challenging FBI case when he needed it? He pulled out his cell and checked it for messages, even though he'd had it on all morning. He tossed the phone on his desk and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Not one but two curly locks fell into his eyes. He really should get it cut; it had been almost two months. Even trademarks had to be tended to now and again, Charlie thought, and half an inch would still leave him with plenty. It was just the distraction he'd been looking for. The thought of escaping campus and his chalkboard for a little while made him relax.

He glanced at his watch. He was done with classes for the day, and it was just late enough that he could go home straight from the barbershop. A little break from campus started to look like throwing in the towel for the day. There was nothing he had to do here that he couldn't do at home. Charlie gathered the tests into a semi-organized pile, swept them up and tucked them under his arm. If he was right, Larry would be in his office doing nothing but thinking. His friend would gladly giving him a ride, considering Charlie's hair was a frequent source of comment ever since they found out people of the female persuasion found it alluring.

The thought almost made him change his mind about the haircut. Maybe if he cut his hair, even just a trim, he'd be like a freshly shorn Samson – no power. Of course, it wasn't like he _really_ had power and crazy old Delilah wasn't shaving his head without his knowledge. The haircut was voluntary. Charlie narrowly missed running into several people before he reached Larry's office. The hold he had on his papers was so tenuous he had to frequently grapple to keep them in his hands. He didn't know why he hadn't put them in his briefcase.

"Hey, Larry," he said from the doorway. "How's it going?"

"Ah, Charles, come in." His friend waved him in, eyes warm. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Larry cued in on the files under his arm. "Sneaking out early today, I see."

"I'm hoping to." He ducked his head, immediately causing the hair to again impede his vision. He couldn't argue with what his own follicles were trying to tell him. "I have some things to take care of."

"See you tomorrow?"

He had hoped to be subtle, not play the beggar. Like the haircut, perhaps he'd dragged out trying, once again, to get his license for a bit too long as well. Getting around without a car wasn't that big of an issue, but he lacked a certain amount of freedom by being at the mercy of the public transportation system or his friends. Charlie gave what he knew was a weak smile, still hoping the subtlety of a miserable expression would win over Larry.

"Yeah." He was going to have to go back to his office for his briefcase if he had to ride the bus. The problem on the board would then taunt him, and he'd stay as if it were a Siren's song he couldn't resist. He didn't know why he was so set on getting away from those numbers, but he just knew that anywhere else had to be better. "I'll be here."

"Did you know," Larry said, stroking his chin once, eyes narrowing slightly until Charlie gave him full attention. "Did you know that if you rub a clove of garlic on your bare foot, you'll get bad breath just as though you had eaten it?"

Like so many of Larry's anecdotes, Charlie marveled at the total randomness of this one. He wondered what point was going to be made, because there was always a point. Some of them sharper than others.

"Really," he said. "No, I didn't know that."

"It's not something most people think about, how connected everything is even within our own bodies. A ticklish spot on your ribs might mean your knee joint is in need of attention. I think we as a people have become unaware of ourselves, and as such, unaware of the things around us."

He was tempted to relate how right now his hair was most definitely telling him something, but he didn't feel like hearing Larry's thoughts on his hair vanity. So Charlie nodded and didn't say anything. He tapped the doorframe with his free hand before stepping backward over the threshold.

"Charles, if you would like a ride, all you have to do is ask."

Charlie stopped, giving Larry a lopsided smile. "I don't want to pull you away from anything."

"I'm contemplating putting garlic on the bottom of my foot. I think a break might do me some good. Where are you off to?"

"Home," he said with a laugh. He needed to drop off his work rather than lug it around with him. From there, he could take the bus. "I figure I can grade tests at home just as well as in my office."

Larry shook his head and grabbed his keys. Within moments, they walked side by side. Charlie couldn't help himself. He leaned toward the other man and sniffed loudly a couple of times, really exaggerating the action. Larry took a lurching step away from him, directly into some poor girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Excuse me," Larry said, reaching out a hand to steady her. "I didn't see you there."

The girl nodded and shrugged away from Larry's hand. She glanced at both of them, murky hazel eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't quite determine as stunned or annoyed. Charlie smiled at her, and she blushed. She hurried away without a word. He stared after her for a moment, struck by a feeling he should know her but unable to solidify it into anything more than a fleeting sensation. Everything about her retreating figure spoke of plainness. Plain brown hair. Plain jeans. A simple grey T-shirt. He had the frightening and cold impression that she didn't really exist. She disappeared among the other pedestrians in the corridor, and immediately the odd sensation she provoked faded. He and Larry started moving again.

"For your information, I haven't tried the garlic clove yet and I had nothing but benign foods for lunch."

"Mashed potatoes, white bread with mayonnaise and cottage cheese?" Charlie said.

"Not only does a monochromatic assortment comfort me, but I'm also spared the terrors of the rest of the cafeteria food."

"You do have a point." Larry was known as the most eccentric person on campus, a feat surprisingly difficult to attain. Professor Lawson in theology was apparently pretty unique herself. Charlie brushed his shoulder against Larry's as they walked. "But the beef stroganoff isn't nearly as bad as it looks."

"I'm content to take your word for that."

Charlie nodded a little and smiled. As they exited the building, he squinted against the sunlight. For once his shaggy hair came in handy, as it fell back over his eyes. He glanced left and right before studying the stairs as he trotted down them. Campus wasn't bustling like it usually was at this hour. Maybe everyone else felt as itchy as he did. It seemed that kind of day to him; he'd woken up wishing it were Saturday. Wednesday just lacked the same appeal. He did look forward to his community ed class tonight, though.

"Has Don approached you with any cases lately?" Larry said. As usual, the guy had managed to find the best parking space, for which Charlie was grateful. The folders under his arm seemed to have minds of their own, jutting out and nearly falling to the ground the further they walked. "I haven't seen him around."

Or Megan, Charlie thought. He knew something was going on between Don's co-agent and the estimable Doctor Fleinhardt. He just couldn't figure out what…or how. He didn't comment on this out loud, of course, choosing rather to clamber into the car.

"No," he said with a sigh when Larry slid behind the wheel. "He's been busy, but apparently with cases that do not require mathematical assistance."

He hadn't seen Don for over a week, truth be told, and he admitted to himself that he missed his brother. Their relationship wasn't solid by any means, but it was a simple fact that he'd become used to the frequent visits Don made to the house. If his dad had noticed the cut back, he hadn't said anything.

"That's too bad."

"Yeah, it's funny you should mention it. I was actually kind of hoping something would come up soon. I find helping him gets my juices flowing all across the board."

"Ah, so that explains your early departure today," Larry said. He eased out of the parking lot, and they were on their way. "Trouble concentrating?"

"I'm having an off day."

"Well, we all have them from time to time. You'll have to find a different remedy than waiting for your brother to need your help, though."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I always did before, I will again."

He looked out the window at the blur of sidewalk and trees and other cars. He didn't really feel like talking about that subject anymore. He was well aware he was a bit more dependent on Don's attention than Don was on his. Strides had been made and he'd like them to continue, true, but if he had learned anything it was not to push. And not to be needy. Charlie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rest, suddenly tired and melancholy. The rhythm of tires on the street and the hum of the engine lulled him into a slight, hazy languor, so that he didn't even notice when the car slowed.

"Charles, we're here."

"What?" he said, straightening up. He blinked blearily out the window. "Oh, we're here."

"Are you feeling all right?" Larry said. Charlie glanced over at his friend and shrugged. "You don't seem quite yourself."

"I'm fine." He was fine. He had been fine. He was being morose for no good reason, and if he couldn't come up with something tangible in his own head…it was just this day. "I kind of wish I had stayed in bed today."

Larry nodded and switched off the engine. They sat there for a few minutes, until Charlie wondered what was keeping him in place. He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

"Thank you for the ride. See you tomorrow."

"Would you like me to come in for a while?"

"No, that's okay. You have things you need to get back to."

"Yes, garlic on the foot. It just goes to show that it really _is_ all physics."

Charlie waved with his free hand, and then shut the door. He stood and waited while Larry started the car and drove off slowly, as if reluctant. Okay, he was being moody but not that moody, he thought. He shook his head and went for the mailbox. All bills, of course. He moved up the sidewalk and into the house.

"Dad?" he called.

There was no answer. Sometimes he had to remind himself that his father, too, had a life of his own. Dropping the tests and the mail off on an end table in the den, Charlie went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. He took a long swallow before he wandered back through the house and out the door. Once back out in the bright sunshine, he decided a walk might do him some good, clear his head a bit before he cleared some of the hair off of it.

Instead of stopping at the closest bus stop, he carried on to the third. By the time he reached it, he was sure he'd exceeded his minimal exercise requirement for the day. He checked the schedule, and noted that for once today something was going right. The bus was due in a matter of minutes. Charlie sat down on the bench and tried very hard not to think about that problem on his board, or how it coincidentally might come in handy for Don one day. Face recognition wasn't something he bet his brother considered very mathematical at all, but he couldn't be more wrong. No, no, he thought, do not start thinking about this right now.

Almost right on time, the bus screeched to a halt. Charlie got to his feet and waited to make sure no one was exiting before he climbed the stairs. He pulled the pass from his pocket and swiped it through. The bus was almost empty, which was pretty unusual. His only company consisted of an old woman who looked at him briefly and then away again, a man in a rumpled business suit, two teenagers making out in the back and a young woman who looked oddly familiar to him, and yet not. He picked a seat in the middle of the bus.

It'd been so long since his last haircut he wasn't sure where to get off anymore, so he remained alert for the whole ride. Great Clips was as good a place as any, and when he saw the big red lettering for it on one of the stores in a strip mall, he pulled the stop cord and got off the bus. Charlie almost changed his mind when he saw there were three people ahead of him; waiting wasn't his forte. But the simple fact that he'd finally got himself there made him go up to the counter and give his name. Then he plopped down and picked up a magazine filled with one hundred percent inanity, most of which he couldn't understand at all.

He wasn't entirely sure it was anyone's business that celebrity A was apparently pregnant with celebrity B's baby, while celebrity B was married to celebrity C. The invasion of privacy revolted him. Charlie shuddered and put the magazine back down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone standing at the window of the shop. He started to look, but then his name was called and so he wandered after the short Asian man who'd be his barber today.

The haircut wasn't the answer he'd been looking for after all, he decided fifteen minutes later. Oh, it was about an inch shorter and definitely felt better on a completely aesthetic level, but he realized too late he hadn't been looking to change his appearance so much as something else. That something he couldn't name. He'd have been better off just waiting for tomorrow, because as someone he was sure he should know once said, the sun would come out tomorrow. Figuratively speaking, he thought as he stepped back out into the afternoon sun.

The bus home was standing room only. Rush hour had begun. After forty-five minutes with his face in the unfortunate position of being stuck in a construction worker's sweaty armpit, Charlie fairly leapt from the vehicle before it had fully stopped. His collar itched from the little barbs of shorn hair caught there and the smell of sweat wouldn't leave his nose. He figured he probably smelled too, and a shower was so in order. He walked quickly as the sun finally started to fade in the western sky.

None of the lights were on, which meant Dad wasn't home yet. He vaguely remembered golf being mentioned, and he wished he had taken the whole day off and joined in the game. Even if he hated it, it sounded so appealing now. He let himself in and had his jacket off in a heartbeat. He draped it over the sofa, plopped his keys on top of it and headed upstairs. Charlie was halfway up when a knock sounded on the door. He sighed, but then perked up when he thought it might be Don. The lights were still off, so his brother wouldn't know he could just come on in.

"Hey," he said as he opened the door. Then he stood there in a bit of confusion, because it was not who he'd expected. Charlie stared at his guest for a moment, not quite sure… "Oh, it's you."


	2. Chapter 2

_I forgot to disclaim. Nothing associated with Numb3rs belongs to me, which is good because I really am terrible at numbers. ;)_

* * *

Alan tightened the belt of his robe as he walked down the stairs. His back was sore and his knees a little tender, both reminders that he really was the age listed on his driver's license. He hadn't meant to play an 18-hole game, and he certainly hadn't meant to spend so much time at the 19th hole afterward. He'd conned himself into thinking it would be good for Charlie to fend for himself for dinner on one or two random occasions. Now, though, he wished he had been home and had made dinner as he usually did. Charlie hadn't even been home when he'd got here last night, so he didn't know why he was working himself up over it. His youngest brilliant child had probably headed straight to the community college after work. Lord knew how long he'd spent there – sometimes Charlie didn't get home until after midnight.

He smelled the coffee before he hit the threshold of the kitchen, and it had never been a more welcome aroma. Whomever it was who'd invented the automatic brew setting on coffee makers should be nominated for sainthood, regardless of what religion they practiced. He reached in the cupboard, snagged his favorite mug and poured himself a cup. Alan set his drink down on the table and shuffled to the front door to collect the paper. The damned delivery person never made it to the steps. He grumbled about his knees and his back as he retrieved the paper from the middle of the sidewalk. And then he grumbled some more when he discovered Charlie had left the front light on all night.

"Eh, he pays most of the bills now. Who am I to complain?" he muttered to himself.

Flipping the switch down as he walked by it, Alan then spotted the mess Charlie had left and rolled his eyes. Still, he didn't pick up the jacket and merely looked at the pile of mail, which looked to be more of those bills he didn't worry so much about anymore. His coffee was probably just perfect for consumption now, which seemed the most important thing at the moment. Charlie had probably come home so late he was dead on his feet; a little clutter wasn't such a bad thing. It reminded him that he wasn't alone, at least not entirely. He slapped the paper on the table and headed for the fridge. He normally drank his coffee black, but he kept creamer on hand for those moments where he had the sudden need to feel his wife in even the smallest of ways. She loved hazelnut.

"Knock, knock."

He turned slightly toward the front door, surprised to hear Don's voice at this hour. He sat down and poured a little of the hazelnut concoction into his coffee.

"In here, Donnie," he called. The morning news would have to wait, but that was okay. It'd been a while since Don had stopped by in the evening, which meant he was busier than usual. Alan had actually been a bit worried. "Good morning."

"Hey, Dad, how's it going?"

"So far, so good. It's barely eight."

_In other words_, he thought, _why are you here at this hour?_

"Yeah," Don said, tilting his head toward the coffee. Alan nodded. "I've been kind of busy. Haven't seen you guys in a while, but I figured tonight would be like most lately and I wouldn't make it."

His oldest looked, well, older than he was, which told Alan more than the admission just how overworked Don was. He didn't ask for details, for details weren't usually something that could be given. Technically, he wasn't sure he should even know when Charlie helped out.

"You look tired."

"Funny, I was just going to tell you that."

"Too much golf followed by too many beers."

Don laughed. Sort of. Alan wasn't entirely sure his son was capable of a true laugh anymore. It had been years since the action had included more than his mouth, and he wished to see sparkle in his son's eyes again. He pushed the chair next to him out with his foot, glad when Don actually took the invitation. He didn't expect the visit would last long.

"As long as you had fun at the time, Dad."

"Yeah." Alan smiled. He did have a good time yesterday. They hadn't exactly gotten much hashed out, business-wise, so the day had to be a one time thing. From now on, he and Stan had to buckle down. He glanced at the countertops free of clutter except a lone, almost full bottle of water. Charlie might be a genius with numbers, but he was a slob. He shook his head slightly and sipped at his coffee. "I did have fun. I don't think I can take too many days in a row like that, though."

"All play and no work."

"Oh, let's not go there or I'll have to remind you of the actual way that axiom goes."

"If we could somehow figure out how to make bad guys not be bad, I would have so much free time, Dad," Don said, gulping down his coffee like he expected it to replace the blood in his veins. "Where's Charlie?"

"Still sleeping. He had a later night than I did." Alan shook his head again. "Wednesday nights are Math for Dummies."

"Dummies like you and me."

"Exactly."

"Well, tell him I said hi when he finally drags himself out of bed." Don stood up and stretched a little, trying to cover a yawn that Alan saw anyway. "I should get going. It never looks good when I'm the last one in."

"Don't be a stranger," Alan said, and he hoped Don knew he meant that more than the way it sounded. "The door's always open."

"I know it is, Dad."

He watched Don rinse out his mug and put it in the dishwasher, then take the abandoned bottle and dump the remaining contents out. Though he'd had thirty odd years to get used to them, the difference between his sons sometimes still managed to amaze him. It wasn't so much that Don thought it important to clean up after himself, but that he didn't think about it at all. He just did it. To Charlie, sometimes nothing else warranted attention but numbers. Which was why he should get in the shower and then to the grocery store. If he didn't, someone around here would waste away to practically nothing.

"Try to remember that if it's not life or death, you should be able to make time for family," Alan said. Don cringed, and then so did he. He sounded like his mother. "Sorry."

"No, you're right."

"We actually do miss you when you don't come around. I swear Charlie gets twitchier than usual when he doesn't have a case of yours to work on. Just judging from his twitches, I think it's been over a month."

"All right, all right. I'll come around more."

Don gave him a wry look, put on his sunglasses and breezed out the door. And that, as they say, was that. Alan knew he shouldn't lecture, but despite his sons were obviously grown men, he was still their father. He could work on not treating them like kids over the _next_ thirty odd years. He shut the door and then trudged back up the stairs for his shower. The morning jog was out. His knees had enough of a workout yesterday, or so he told himself. Today was strictly low-impact. A couple of laps around the market should do the trick, plus the calories he'd burn cooking up a great dinner.

The morning flew by. He spent too much time squeezing melons at the grocery store, but there was something about a good melon he couldn't resist. Now he was elbow deep in chopped carrots, onions, celery and potatoes. The beef cubes were browning nicely. Beef stew wasn't exactly gourmet, but sometimes it hit the spot – filling and comforting. And since he knew his youngest so well, he knew Charlie hadn't eaten properly yesterday. He could use a little stick-to-the-ribs cooking to make up for it. Alan took the beef off the heat and scraped it directly into the slow cooker, then added the vegetables, a few spices and a bit of broth. It smelled delicious already. His stomach growled.

Alan patted the rumbling reminder of the lunchtime hour, as if to appease a beast within, and went out to check the mail first. If he was lucky the carrier had stopped by early…on time…today. He was pleased to find luck was indeed on his side. Not only had the mail already been delivered, but several of his magazine subscriptions had arrived. When he walked back through the house, he noticed several of Charlie's things still scattered about.

"Kid, what am I going to do with you?" he said into the air. "Nearly thirty and I still have to pick up after you."

With a patient, fond smile for his absent and absentminded son, he picked up yesterday's bills and took them with him to the kitchen. No harm if he monitored the stuff; after all, Charlie might forget about them indefinitely. He laid them down and quickly cleaned up the mess he'd made in beef stew preparation before he rummaged through the fridge for sandwich makings. His stomach growled again and he found himself famished just by the proximity of food that was ready to eat. He remembered that he hadn't eaten breakfast. Guess he shouldn't talk about his son's distractions when he demonstrated that trait just fine himself. Alan had his mouth full of turkey, spinach and tomato on whole grain when the phone rang. He chewed hastily and swallowed before dashing for the phone.

"Eppes residence," he said without checking caller ID.

"Alan, it's Larry Fleinhardt."

_Huh_, he thought, _odd of Larry to call in the middle of the day._

"Hi, Larry, what's up?"

"I wondered if Charles felt better."

"What…what do you mean, better?" The feeling in his gut that had been hunger turned into something else altogether. "Was he sick?"

"No, not sick, per se," Larry said. There was a long pause. "I just assumed…yesterday he said something about not feeling like himself, and when he didn't arrive for his first two classes today I thought perhaps he was ill."

Didn't show up. Didn't show up? Larry was right. Charlie might be prone to forgetting things like cleaning up after himself, but it wasn't like him to just not show up for work that he was damned passionate about. Alan paced a few steps and then a few steps more and ended up in the den. The jacket over the sofa's arm jumped out at him now, as did the stack of manila folders on the end table. His mind raced with all sorts of parental what-if scenarios. There could be a very logical explanation, like Charlie was in fact sick.

"To be honest, I haven't seen him today," Alan said. "I'll go check on him. Hold on a second?"

He let his phone hand drift to his side as he climbed the stairs and headed toward Charlie's room. The door was slightly ajar. Alan couldn't remember if it had been that way all day or not. He rapped lightly on it, pushing it open another inch or two. The room was empty. The bed was rumpled, but that didn't really mean much. Charlie often forgot to make the bed.

"Larry, he's not here."

"He's not there."

"No, he's not here."

Alan was tangentially aware that the conversation had turned into more of a mimic session than anything else, but he had that horrible feeling. The one he'd had when Don was eight and had fallen out of the tree in the park, the one he'd had when Charlie vanished into the garages in a ceaseless fit of problem solving and hadn't eaten for a week straight.

"You said he wasn't himself yesterday," Alan said, thinking, thinking. "Did something happen?"

"Not that I'm aware."

He was out the door before he realized instinct was taking him to the garage. Alan flung the door open. He was met by a chalkboard but no Charlie. A pang of disappointment shot through him, lessened only by a little relief that Charlie wasn't locked in some strange mathematical haze. _That which we don't understand_, he thought, _we fear_. And he didn't understand Charlie when he got like…that.

"He's not in the garage either."

"I can't help but be alarmed, Alan," Larry said. There was another long pause. "It's not like Charles to abandon his responsibilities without a good reason."

"We don't know he doesn't have a good reason."

Lies. Alan knew. The manila folders in the den had had the mail from yesterday on top of them, which meant Charlie hadn't touched them after dropping them there. If he had brought work home with him, he would have done that work.

"That's true."

"Larry, when was the last time you saw him?"

"I gave him a ride home at about 2:30. He had tests to grade and said he would be just as comfortable doing them at home."

"He didn't touch them," Alan said. He left the garage out the other door, and stood in sunshine that should have warmed him but left him inexplicably cold. "I didn't think anything of it when the lights weren't on when I got home, because I know Charlie had a class last night."

"Oh, I have a very bad feeling." Larry paused again. "I'm going to try to find Amita. Maybe she knows where he is."

"Call me when you have news."

"You do the same."

Alan nodded, forgetting he was on the phone until it clicked in his ear. He pulled it away from his ear and turned it off. Scrubbing his hand across his face as he walked, he stumbled slightly. The day suddenly didn't seem quite as low impact as he'd hoped for. As he went back into the house, he glanced at his watch. 1:45. For all he knew, something had happened to one of his boys, and it had happened almost 24 hours ago.

* * *

_Dum-dum-dummmmm._


	3. Chapter 3

_I disclaim. I don't own the Eppes brothers or their father, or any of the other wonderful Numb3rs characters. I just toyed with them a very little, and plan to return them in reasonably good shape to where they belong._

_Notes: This is clearly a Charlie h/c and angst story, but I split the POVs fairly equally between Charlie, Alan and Don because I love the family. It's also, I realize, unfolding slowly. I hope you bear with me, and muchas gracias for those who've let me know they're reading and liking so far! _

_Oh, and I don't know how Amita got selected in the character bit for the story description. I'm...not a Charlie/Amita shipper. I'm not anti, but still - not the focus of this story, even if it's mentioned. I've fixed that._

_Enough yammering from me. On with the story._

* * *

The guy looked like he'd break in half if breathed on too strongly. The old adage of looks being deceiving was certainly proving true here. The refusal to name accomplices wasn't surprising so much as it was aggravating to Don Eppes. Part of his frustration, too, was how he'd started his day. He didn't even know why he'd stopped by the house, though a deep down part of him suspected it was to catch a glimpse of Charlie. It felt wrong, though, that he was _relieved_ his brother had still been sleeping. Don knew his dad was right, but his dad didn't know that he'd actually, actively avoided hanging out there lately. Of course that was probably what made the guilt trip all the more powerful. The simple fact of the matter was that no matter how much he appreciated the help Charlie gave him…all of them…sometimes his little brother was still as much a burden as ever. He also knew thinking that probably made him a crappy brother.

"Look, Kenny. We know you were just along for the ride. You're not the one who should pay for this," Don said. "Give us the people who really did it, and we'll get you a deal."

It was the same story they'd already told Mr. Tightlips in at least three separate attempts, each attempt a slightly different variation on a theme. Don circled around the gaunt suspect, ready to test out that breathing to break him thing. Megan glanced up at him, and he could see she was almost as frustrated as he was. Usually having a beautiful woman sitting across from a male perp made him more pliable. Hell, having one in the same vicinity did the trick in most cases. This guy, this reed-thin, pale, worm of a man apparently didn't notice Megan's attributes.

"I got nothin' to say."

Now that was the same story Kenny had been telling _them_. Don clenched his fists as he walked behind again, raising his arms in the air in a slight stretch. He resisted the urge to smack the guy on the head. He caught Megan shake her head at him slightly. He put his arms down, but stayed where he was. He couldn't look at that uncooperative face anymore.

"Just so you remember it was _your_ choice when cellmate after cellmate cozies up to you for the next thirty-five years. I hope you've got an open mind, because by the time you're done, you'll have a very open – "

"Kenny," Megan said quickly. She stood up. "Why don't you think for a little longer? Make sure this is really the way you want to go. We'll be back in a few minutes."

Megan didn't drag Don out of the room, but it sure felt like he was leashed to her. Don bit back the various curses he wanted to utter – at her, at Kenny, hell, at his father. He hated it when the really bad guys got away, both because they were bad guys and because it meant they were way too smart. It meant they were smarter than he was, and he had always hated anyone outsmarting him. Don slammed the door behind him.

"What the hell was that?" he said the second he was outside the interrogation room and the door was closed. "We're never going to get anywhere with us out here and him in there."

"Don, it wasn't going well," Megan told him. She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up. "You were about to lose it with a guy who wasn't even being antagonistic."

He glared at her for a couple of seconds. Rather than accusation in her expression, he saw concern. Damnit, why was he so on edge? Don shook his head slightly. If his annoyance was that obvious, he had a problem.

"This guy is the perfect patsy. He knows everything. He can get us DelMarco. He should get us DelMarco."

"It can't always work the way we want." Megan shrugged. Don glared some more, until she looked sheepish. "I know. It's bothering me, too. I can't get a solid grasp on him, and he should be easy."

"So you can understand my irritation."

"Yes, but – "

"Then we go ahead and give it a few minutes. I'm not done with this guy," Don said. He glanced at this watch. They'd wasted too much time. He started to think maybe he should see if there was some mathematical way to ferret out DelMarco, though he really hated the idea a second after thinking it. "I'll be back."

He walked away before she could say anything else. Don stalked by David and Colby, all too aware they stared at him as he did so. Damnit. He needed some air. He reached for his cell as he entered the elevator, flipping it open to see he'd missed twenty-some calls. Great, just what he needed, grief from the bosses. He pushed the lobby button. Scrolling down the numbers, he winced and then his eyebrows shot up when he read that most of them had come from his father.

"Sorry, Dad, I am just not in the mood," he grumbled to himself. "Whatever it is, it's going to have to wait."

Of course, the second he said it he felt guilty. Again. His father could produce that feeling without even being in the same place as he was. Don checked his messages, relieved that of the twenty calls only five left voicemail. He skimmed the ones from the higher ups, knowing before their words hit his ears what they were going to say. He didn't need the reminder of his failure to break Kenny, nor did he feel it necessary to call them back just yet. He also figured he knew what his dad wanted, but he sighed to himself and listened anyway.

"_Don, when you get this message, please call me right away."_

He frowned. There was a sense of urgency in his dad's tone that set him instantly on edge. He deleted and listened to the next.

"_Don, I really need you to call me. I'm at home."_

The urgency upped to something more in the second message. The elevator door opened. Don stood in the cab and let the door slide shut again. He had a very bad feeling that his prediction of his father's intent behind the phone calls was wrong, and suddenly he _wanted_ to hear some chastisement and cajoling about visiting more often. He headed back up to the office.

"_I know you're probably in the middle of something very important," _his dad's somewhat frantic voice said into his ear in the final message, _"but I'm going a little out of my mind here. I'm still at home."_

Don thought he should have got off the elevator in the lobby, so he could make the call right away. His index finger circled the speed dial. It wasn't like Dad to get worked up over nothing, which meant this was something, capital S. The last he'd heard this kind of desperation in his father's voice, it had been when he'd learned of his mom's illness. His brain started connecting dots before the dots were even in place, and the picture it created was not a good one.

The ride back up the elevator seemed to take longer than the one down had. He decided that reduced reception in the elevator wasn't a big deal. Don pressed speed dial number one and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang and rang. The gut ache he had from Kenny's stonewalling increased with every ring, same ache with a different cause. The elevator door opened, his floor this time. He stepped off, and nearly ran into Colby.

"Hey, Don. I was just coming to track you down. I've got your dad on the phone. He sounds upset."

That explained him not getting an answer…and if Dad didn't switch over for call waiting, then he knew it was bad. He clicked his phone shut and made for his desk. "What line?"

"Two."

"Dad," he said, before the phone had even really reached his ear. "What's going on?"

"_I've been trying to get you all afternoon."_ His dad paused, short bursts of air whooshing against the receiver and transmitting right though to Don. He pictured Dad pacing back and forth. _"Don't you ever answer the phone?"_

"I'm on a case, Dad, I had it off."

"_I know, I figured."_ Another pause. _"I'm sorry, I'm just going out of my head here."_

"So are you going to tell me what's up?"

"_It's your brother."_

"Charlie?" he said, as if Dad didn't know the name. "What…what's wro…is something wrong with Charlie?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his team's attention turn to him. Don sat down and turned toward the wall. He didn't need anyone watching him while he got bad news. He couldn't lose it like this in front of people. He never lost it. He couldn't. He didn't know why he was now.

"_Don, no one's seen Charlie for over twenty-four hours."_

Strange relief filled him for a brief moment. Not sick, not cancer like his mom, not hurt, not dead. Then the actual message hit his synapses.

"What? You said this morning that he was sleeping."

"_Well, apparently I was wrong."_

"What about Larry, maybe Larry's seen him?"

"_Larry hasn't seen him, he's the one who called me. Amita hasn't seen him. __**No one**__ has seen him,"_ his father said quickly, and then continued on in the same rapid-fire manner. _"It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. He missed all of his classes today. He's…not in any nearby hospitals or…morgues. I called the police. They don't think it warrants investigation yet – he is, after all, a grown man. But I'm telling you, something is not right."_

"Breathe for a second, Dad," Don said with a lot more calm than he truly felt. His insides actually seemed to be made of gelatin, both because of the knowledge that his father wasn't one to overreact and the information that he'd just gotten. It wasn't like Charlie to go anywhere without letting someone know, intentionally or by chance. "I'm glad you called. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"_Thanks, Donnie."_

"Just sit tight, Dad, there's probably a reasonable explanation."

"_Hey, this is Charlie we're talking about, right?" _his dad said, with a laugh that wasn't real. _"Knowing him, he decided to find Descartes' grave to pay homage and just forgot to tell us about it."_

"You might be right," he said, feeding the weak attempt to deter complete fear.

He disconnected the call, then stood up. A glance around the office revealed that everyone was still looking at him, now with concern very apparent in their expressions. They'd heard everything…and why wouldn't they be concerned?

"Megan, I need you to wrap up with Kenny for me," he said, tugging on his suit coat. "Something's come up that I need to take care of."

"Yeah, man, we heard," David said. "What's going on?"

Part of him wanted to bring at least one of his team along, but explaining to the higher-ups that he'd used agency people on something – a very personal something – that _might_ be wrong would be too much of a headache if said something turned out to be nothing. He gathered some of his things, in case the might-be-wrong turned into an actual wrong and he didn't make it back in. Megan and Colby walked over and stood near his desk.

"I don't know yet. Dad's pretty upset."

"Want some help?" Colby said. "I mean, Charlie's like our kid brother, too."

"No." Don brushed by Colby, who he was sure was actually a tad younger than Charlie. "I need you guys to stay on this DelMarco thing. I'm sure I can clear this in a couple of hours, maybe less. I'll check in with you."

He didn't wait for acknowledgement; they'd do what he asked. Don rolled his shoulders as he walked, and while he waited for the elevator, he tilted his head from side to side. It produced a satisfying, if slightly painful, crack. Charlie. Missing. He wanted to believe it was just his brother's flakiness coming into play, but even Charlie wasn't so absentminded he'd take off and let Dad worry like that. He regretted his recent thoughts about what a burden his little brother could be. A sharp throb of pain started from the back of his head, wrapping around to just behind his right eye. Just what he needed.

"Don."

He turned. The elevator dinged and the door opened. He put his hand out to prevent it from shutting without him in it.

"Megan."

"Are you sure you don't want help?"

"Yeah, it's probably nothing."

"It's enough for you to leave an interrogation that only a few minutes ago had you all hot and bothered," she said.

He stared at her for a moment. The case itself remained on his radar, but he'd actually forgotten how pissed he was about Kenny's lack of cooperation.

"Yeah," he said and got into the elevator, "it is. Just…let me do this on my own for the moment. I know you can handle Kenny."

Megan watched him until the door closed. He could just about see her brain working, trying to figure him out. He hadn't done a very effective job convincing her he didn't think things were bad with Charlie. He did think they were bad. Admitting that made him feel just a little bit better. Not much. Not enough. Over the years, Don had seen enough missing persons cases to have a whole bevy of concerns. He tried not to think about them. Considering he hadn't gathered that much solid information yet, it was better to assume neither the best nor the worst.

He fidgeted slightly at every stop of the elevator on its way down to the parking garage. If Dad was right and it had been about twenty-four hours since anyone had seen Charlie, every single moment counted. The fact that no one had noticed for that long was not a good sign…and so much for not projecting about it. The elevator finally landed on his level. As soon as he got out on the streets, he saw rush hour traffic had already started to hit. Don looked at his watch. Three o'clock. This traffic mess seemed to happen earlier and earlier every year. He reached into his pocket for his phone. An oncoming car, almost ran into him.

"Hey," he said, though it was pointless. "Watch it."

He flipped the phone open, keeping an eye on the road and a hand firmly on the wheel. If the ancillary streets were this busy, it was going to take him a while to get there. He pressed Dad's number, then thought a second and disconnected. Instead, he pressed speed dial two. It rang. That was a good thing.

"_Don?"_

The voice was familiar, but not the one he'd hoped for.

"Hey, Dad."

"_His phone was here. I saw your name on caller ID."_

"It was worth a try," he said. Damnit. One route of tracking down his kid brother was closed. "Since I've got you, I wanted to tell you I'm probably going to be a while. Traffic."

"_Can't you flash your sirens or something?"_

"I'm not a cop, Dad."

"_I know."_ Dad sighed in his ear. It sounded like hope deflating. _"I'll be here."_

Don hung up. The one hundred and one questions he had to ask would wait until he could do it in person. He pushed his foot on the gas pedal, as if doing so would make all the other drivers on the road cooperate more.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_Whoop, I got a day behind. I really, really hope to post every other day. Some chapters are taking more TLC than I had anticipated (jeez, it's embarrassing to look back at a story I wrote a while ago), but I think I can stick to it. _

_Hugs for the reviews, because they are loved, squeezed, hugged and named George the instant I get them. Even if it takes me a few days to respond to them. ;)_

* * *

In the first few moments after opening his eyes, Charlie thought he had gone blind. The blackness all around him was unexpected, and might well have been a thick blanket he was trapped in, robbing him of light _and_ air. It pressed down on him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He took shallow, rapid breaths until he was dizzy and his skin prickled from the rush of fearful adrenaline. In the _next_ few moments after opening his eyes, he realized he could see shapes, outlines in the dark, which should have made him feel better but didn't. He could make out a large rectangle in the middle of the wall, a tall cylinder in the corner. He was pretty sure he wasn't in his room.

He was really pretty sure he didn't know where he was. His panic continued to mount, and he struggled to rein it in. Wherever he was and however he got here…panicking would not help. Charlie slowed his breathing and started cataloguing what facts he could. There weren't many.

He was on something soft. A bed, maybe. For lack of a clearer option, he decided to call it a bed. Charlie lifted his head. The movement brought pain. Not splitting, brain-numbing pain, but a low, dull ache. He put his head back down and felt a little bit better. Think. He had to think for a while before he moved again. He tried to remember…anything. The back of his neck itched. Hair tickled at his collar. Hair. Haircut. He definitely remembered getting a trim. He moved his right arm to scratch at the irritation, but could only raise it about an inch and a half off of the bed.

"What?" he said stupidly. Charlie didn't recognize his own voice. It sounded as though he had laryngitis, but he couldn't recall having a cold or sore throat. "What's going on?"

He tugged at the restraints holding his arm – both of his arms, he discovered with again-increasing panic – but they were tight. His pulse increased; he could tell by how it felt like his heart was going to burst through his sternum at any moment. He got a haircut and then…he woke up here. Wherever here was. Why couldn't he remember?

"Help." The instinct to cry for assistance was there, but his voice still wasn't. Charlie took several deep breaths, or tried to. That was difficult to do while hyperventilating for the second time in three minutes. "Help…help me!"

He didn't know exactly what outcome he'd expected. No help came. No harm came, either, which he supposed was some good fortune at least. He suspected whomever had him wasn't about to come and let him go. He kept fighting against his binds. His legs wouldn't move, either. He might as well be naked, lying on his back in the dark like this. He stopped struggling, out of air. He counted to ten. He didn't know why that was supposed to be calming; it was a kindergarten tactic. Charlie stared at the shadowy ceiling, the vague shape of the unlit overhead light staring back at him. It was like a giant eye. He looked around to see where the scant light was coming from. There, behind the big rectangle along the wall, a window, heavily draped.

The visual surveillance did him no good. He couldn't do anything to help himself, and he had no idea what had transpired to land him in this situation – he wasn't working any sensitive FBI cases. He didn't know, then, who would help him out of this mess. No, he thought a second later, that wasn't true. Dad would notice he was gone and Don would help him. Don would find him and get him out of there. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, and he hated them. Even in the dark he was embarrassed by them.

"Don't be a baby, Charlie. Everything's going to be fine. Just fine."

Then he heard noise coming from outside the room, and he was in all-out panic mode again. He twisted on the bed, arching his back and pretending his wrists didn't hurt from straining against the ties. Every rapid beat of his heart brought another throb of pain to his head. It was no use. He was still going nowhere on his own. Charlie sagged back down against the mattress. The noise outside became distinguishable as footsteps. He didn't think they were those of a rescuer. He couldn't let his captor see him so agitated. He knew next to nothing about being a prisoner (who did, really?), but it seemed to make sense to him that he should keep himself pulled together in front of the bad guy. The footfalls stopped somewhere behind him, at the door. He heard metal jangling, something scraping on wood. The room suddenly flooded with bright light.

"Oh, good. You're finally awake," a voice said.

He squinted and twisted his neck around, trying to see. The light was too bright. The person was more like a silhouette than a real form. Charlie opened his mouth, but then realized he didn't know what he could say, or even if he _should_ say anything.

"You were asleep longer than I thought you would be, but I suppose that's okay," she said. It was definitely a she. "I had to go out anyway."

"Who are you?" he said at last. The raspy dryness of his voice disguised its tremulous quality, he thought. He hoped. "What do you want with me?"

"Well, I'd think that was pretty obvious," she said. He couldn't recognize her voice. "I have what I want, mostly. You. It didn't go the way I wanted it to. You did go and cut your hair, though, and I'm terribly disappointed about that. You gave me little choice."

She sounded like they'd already had the conversation, like he was supposed to understand what was going on in her head. He didn't even know who she was, yet she knew him enough to know he'd had a haircut…yesterday?

"It was just a trim," Charlie said, feeling absurd for defending the haircut and not even knowing why. "Half an inch."

"A trim you didn't need." The calm, lilting tone she'd had before developed a hard, frightening edge. A second later, it was gone and he couldn't be sure if it had really been there. "Let's not talk about that now. Oh…your wrists. You shouldn't struggle."

Shouldn't? It was impossible not to. He closed his eyes, the strain of looking up and back causing a burning sensation. Tears filled up his eyes again, his body's way of easing pain. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting her to think he was actually crying.

"I woke up in a strange, dark room. What else would you expect me to do? Simple logic…"

"Ooh, are you going to talk math to me?"

Charlie shut his mouth. He opened his eyes again, searching into the light for a glimpse of the shadowy figure. Her method of elusion was flawless. All he continued to see was white light and a vague black shape amid it. She stayed just behind him, so he could never get a decent look. He couldn't even determine accurate height, though he could tell she was smaller than he was. He was no egoist about physical stature, but that bothered him.

"No," he said.

"Another disappointment. I hope you'll come around soon." She shifted slightly. "I'm sorry to keep you in the dark like this, but I just can't bear to look at you. Not yet."

His mind swirled with confusion. She seemed so cheerful and talked as though holding someone tied up was a completely routine activity in daily life. For all he knew, it _was _all part of her routine. He could be the tenth person she'd kidnapped. She seemed skilled at it. He had no idea how she'd managed this, what with an apparent gaping hole in his memory. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how she'd done it or why he couldn't remember.

"You plan on keeping me?"

"Well, now that I have you I'm not letting you go, silly," she said pleasantly. She leaned down, and as she did so an even brighter light shone directly in his eyes. He had to look away. "I brought you something to eat. I'm sure you must be starving."

Actually, now that she mentioned it, he realized he was. He also couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, which might account for some of his headache. He didn't think lack of food was entirely responsible. It made sense to him that he'd somehow been slipped a drug or something, the only way he could justify someone her stature getting him in the position he was in. It might also explain the memory issues. Or maybe she'd hit him, but he thought he'd remember feeling that.

"I can't eat when I'm tied up," he pointed out.

"You can drink." She tapped him on the shoulder. He looked and went cross-eyed as he saw a straw being thrust at him. "I have to keep you healthy. It's chocolate Ensure. I have vanilla if you'd like that more."

"How long to do expect me to live on this?"

He lifted his head slightly. He closed his eyes halfway, unable to stand the intensity of the light. Charlie felt vulnerable enough already, and the indignity of feeling around for the straw just made it all the worse. Vulnerable or not, though, he was alive and if being completely dependent on this person was necessary for him to stay that way, then he'd endure. He finally got the straw into his mouth. He sucked a mouthful of chalky chocolate Ensure and tried not to grimace too much. Wouldn't want to upset his slightly unstable host.

"I know it's not ideal," she said. The hand not holding the can stroked his hair. She sighed. "But it'd be too hard for you to chew solid food lying down like that."

"There's a very easy solution to that problem."

She moved away. Or he thought she did. The straw pulled out of his mouth. The hand in his hair abandoned its task as she ran a finger along his sore left wrist. He flinched away reflexively. Some of the Ensure sloshed out, splashing against his face, as she jerked away as well.

"Oh, I don't think so. I wish you would have seen while we were out there in the world, seen that we'll be so good together." She didn't sound cheerful anymore, nor did she sound hard. She sounded sad. Charlie stared at the dark form, hoping she'd slip and reveal her identity. At least if he knew who she was he might not be at a total disadvantage. He didn't know how to employ the famous Eppes' charm on someone he didn't know, let alone someone who held him captive. He sucked at Eppes' charm. That was Don's forte, at least with women. "Like I said, I didn't plan for this, not so soon. I'm kind of glad it happened this way, though."

Charlie didn't know what to say. If he antagonized her, she might do something truly scary. He wasn't in a position to refute her delusion, but he didn't want to play into it either. He was as trapped in options as he was simply trapped. She kept rubbing at his wrist, and as creepy as it was, he couldn't help but be grateful she wasn't being abusive. If he was careful, he would be just fine until Don came for him. Don, Megan, Larry, his father…someone would figure out what had happened, even though he himself had no idea. He had to believe that, because not believing that was too terrible.

"I'd appreciate it if you turned off the light," he said. "It's hurting my eyes."

"I'll be gone in a minute, then your eyes can rest again." She squeezed his wrist gently and then wrapped her fingers with his. He had to use all of his strength not to pull away. "I have to go out again. I'd like to spend all of my time with you, but I have obligations to attend to."

While he wasn't crazy about this, he wasn't sure he wanted to be left in the dark again. He'd only been there for a few minutes, conscious minutes, anyway, and he didn't know if he could take the suffocating darkness any more than he could withstand the light.

"You're going to leave me alone?"

Damnit. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Aw, poor sweetie," she said. Her thumb traced a circular path on the back of his hand. "You'll miss me when I'm gone. I knew it. That makes me so happy to hear, but I can't just disappear from my daily life. People might finally take notice, and for once I don't want that."

"No, that's not what I…" He paused when the grip on his hand tightened. "I mean, I'm still hungry. What if I need more while you're gone? What if I need to do other normal things, like go to the bathroom?"

The light flickered a little bit, then finally went out. He opened his eyes all the way again, but all he saw were residual bursts of light, like fluorescent puffs of dandelions seeds floating across his vision. After a few moments, he realized the light was still on but she had moved directly in front of it. She let go of his hand, reaching instead for his belt.

"Oh, do you need to now?"

"No! No, I was just…no. I'm fine. Thank you."

Somewhere during his panicked reply, Charlie realized the whole situation was almost as absurd as it was frightening. The only thing keeping the absurdity from tipping the scale was that even the absurdity had a terrifying feel to it. She was apparently wholly comfortable helping him with rather embarrassing bodily functions, speaking of intimacy he knew was absolutely not possible for them to have shared. He hadn't been that intimate with anyone for a long while. He would rather make a mess of himself than let her touch him. A flash of this faceless shape giving him a sponge bath before his eyes made him want to cry with utter sincerity.

"If you're sure," she said. Her hand lingered in regions he'd really like if she _never_ became intimate with. His right hand jerked to brush her away, even though he knew it was restrained. She sighed again, a sad sound. "Okay, but promise me you'll tell me if you need anything."

He needed only one thing, and unfortunately it was the one thing she didn't seem willing to give. He didn't want explanations. He didn't care to solve this particular problem. He only wanted to be let go. Charlie said nothing, which seemed about the only safe reply to anything she put forth.

"I'll be back as soon as I can then."

She left without attempting to molest him again. The bright light returned for a second, and then darkness swallowed him. The bursts of light continued to float across his vision. Closing his eyes to ward them off did nothing. Charlie started doing calculations, to find the pattern in what most would consider a random visual aberration. He got most of the way through, but then the spots finally started to fade. He could only do so much of the math in his head, and he didn't have access to his chalkboard. He wanted his chalkboard desperately, like a baby longed for a security blanket. He didn't think math would solve his bigger problem, though, and so it was a temporary and unsatisfactory distraction. Numbers couldn't untie knots.

So he tried to figure out if she had told him anything besides what she had told him. Unfortunately, he couldn't really recall anything of value. It was all crazy to him. She seemed to think they were meant to be, and that they had actually been together in some place that was not her own mind. Anything beyond that did not matter all that much – if it was real to her, she'd make it real to him, one way or another. That was about the only thing he did know. He looked up into the blackness, toward a ceiling he knew was there, and felt it seep into him. It might swallow him whole, leave him as nothing.

Charlie wondered where she had gone, and when she'd be back. _People might finally take notice. _He didn't suppose a mathematician had any qualification to interpret a statement like that, but it kept playing in his mind and he thought he understood it. She felt invisible. She felt like he had throughout high school, and to some degree, college. Oh, many people saw his skill at math…but very few saw him. Don didn't even see him, and his father only saw part of him. His mother was the only one who'd known him at all.

"Okay, you need to stop thinking," he told himself. His thoughts of Mom and the intense need for his chalkboard made him feel worse. "Stop thinking like that."

Only Charlie had no idea what could think about in this cold place that wouldn't leave him feeling small, and very, very alone.

* * *

_TBC!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Standard - Numb3rs and its characters aren't mine._

_Eh. This chapter is...just more building of the mystery and much father-worry from poor Alan._

* * *

The comfort Alan felt in Don's presence lasted for about ten minutes, the ten minutes that it had taken him to realize Don wasn't going to find any easy answers. He'd clung to hope that he was simply making more of Charlie's absence than it really was. He watched his son pace back and forth, trapped by less than helpful evidence just as effectively as a tiger in a cage was trapped by the bars. Somewhere deep inside Alan had known that Don wouldn't be able to slap an FBI bandaid on this, knew it before he'd even made the call. The police not being willing to touch the case due to lack of evidence of wrongdoing might have been a big clue had he not been panicking and thinking of about two hundred worst case scenarios.

"So when you say Charlie didn't seem like himself, what did you mean, exactly?" Don said. "Was he 'off' enough to just leave without telling anyone?"

Larry, who'd insisted on coming over earlier now looked as though he regretted it. He twitched almost rabbit-like several times and shot Alan a help-me glance or two. They had gone over the very little they knew in detail three times already. There was, it seemed to Alan, nothing to go on. He hated that the very idea had occurred to him. He took up Don's habit and started pacing. It helped a bit, though his legs actually wanted to hit the streets. He looked at his watch. They had reached the twenty-seven hour mark. Charlie. Gone. Twenty-seven hours.

"What I meant by Charles not seeming like himself is that I have never known him to leave campus early. Moreover, he seemed very anxious to depart."

"Well, that's a starting point, at least."

Alan didn't follow the logic, but then it wasn't his place to do so. If Don had connected some dots he personally couldn't see, that was enough. He'd just keep busily and morbidly thinking about Charlie beaten, bloody and possibly dead. That was oh so helpful. There had been no phone calls demanding ransom, and why would there be? There would be because Charlie had valuable skills and knowledge. His stomach hurt. No, connecting imaginary dots was not his forte.

"You think something happened on campus that made him want to leave?" Alan said.

"It's possible."

"I think Charles would have simply told me, or at the very least I would have heard something. It's a big campus, but we're a pretty tight-knit group."

"But it's possible," Don said, snapping a little. He let out a low growl. Alan thought his son didn't even realize he'd made the sound of frustration. "We've got to start somewhere."

The whole house smelled of beef stew now. It was choking him, and it made his stomach turn. Alan suddenly wondered if Charlie had eaten anything, how long it would take his relatively small son to starve. If he wasn't already dead from some other horrible cause. He shook his head. What was wrong with him? They didn't know if this was a kidnapping at all, let alone if there was malicious intent. His legs felt weak now, exhausted by their back and forth non-search. He collapsed into an armchair.

"You won't get anywhere tonight. How many people stick around after hours, Larry?" he said, hating to bring that point up. He'd waited too long to call Don. "There has to be something here."

"The jacket." Don walked over to the sofa and picked up Charlie's abandoned jacket. "Did you touch anything besides the cell phone?"

"Hmm?" Alan sat up straighter. "No, but Charlie leaves his stuff around all the time. I'm not sure the jacket will help."

Don ignored him as he rifled through the pockets. The thought of doing so hadn't occurred to him. If the phone hadn't rung before, Alan doubted he would have noticed it either. It wasn't his job. He had no job here but to become more worried by every passing second. He had always felt bad for the parent on the TV news, begging whoever had taken their child to please bring little Tracy back home, but he had never understood. Not really. He didn't suppose anyone could, unless they had experienced it first hand. Now he understood, and it didn't matter that his son wasn't a five year old. The pain was the same. Unlike those unfortunate others, he had direct access to more information, but then he was assuming Don would keep him in the loop.

"Here," Don said, pulling a small piece of white paper from the left pocket. "I found something."

Something, he didn't care about, unless it found Charlie. He sat forward. Listen to him, already flying off the handle and it had only been twenty-seven hours, thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds since anyone Charlie knew had seen him. And only about five hours since he had realized his son had vanished. He stared at the little paper, now caring a great deal what might be on it.

"What is it?"

"Looks like a receipt." Don unfolded the paper and looked it over. "From Great Clips, not too far away from here. It's dated yesterday."

"So Charles went there after I dropped him off," Larry said. "He did say he had something to take care of."

"Hold on, we don't know that. He could have gone earlier in the day. Before work, maybe, or at lunch."

Larry frowned and shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so, Don. Why would he come all the way back here for a haircut in the middle of the day? And I would have noticed if he had gotten it cut before coming to work." Alan raised his eyebrows. He couldn't remember the last time he noticed someone had a trim. "Charles is known first and foremost for his math. Second only to that, on campus, his hair. Women apparently appreciate his ample follicles."

Don rolled his eyes at that, then a second later looked strange, almost remorseful. He knew those expressions, the former more than the latter. Alan knew it hadn't been easy for Don, growing up with a genius kid brother. It wasn't easy now, he thought, but it was getting better between them all the time.

"Well, we have another path to follow."

"But you still can't do anything until morning. It'll be another twelve hours before…"

Alan stopped himself, nauseated by the fact their hands were tied. He wondered if Charlie's hands were tied. The smell of the stew infiltrated his nostrils and increased the nausea. He stood up abruptly, brushing by Don as he made his way to the kitchen. He had no appetite, certainly not for the damned stuff in the slow cooker. He stalked over to the counter and turned the small appliance off. With more force than necessary, he heaved the removable pot out and dumped it into the sink. The lid slid off. It clattered against the sink, but he hardly noticed. The stew looked like vomit.

"I'll find him, Dad."

He leaned against the counter, planting his hands on the stainless steel edge of the sink. He wanted to believe Don, but the only lead they had was that Charlie had gone for a much-needed haircut yesterday afternoon. He didn't have that FBI mind. He didn't see how something so mundane could possibly help. But he also knew that it had to.

"I know you will," he said, lying just a little. He knew Don would try his best, and that the best effort didn't always guarantee success. "It's just a bit difficult not to be very worried right now."

"The million different scenarios about what could have happened to him, what could be happening at his very moment while we stand here doing nothing?"

"Yeah, those."

"I have them, too, but we can't think like that."

Easier said than done, he thought. Alan figured if Don was going to be involved on this highly personal case, he was going to have to detach from the subject and not let it impact him. He had no idea how that was even possible, yet he also knew Don would not let himself be removed from the case.

"Give me something else to think," he said.

"You know I can't, Dad, much as I want to be able to do that."

Alan stared down at the rapidly congealing stew. It wasn't making him feel any better. But as irrational as his anger about the food was, it did give him something to do. He hated the stupid stuff, but he couldn't bring himself to let it just sit there and rot. He lifted the pot up, setting it on the counter while he searched for a rubber spatula and container to put the uneaten dinner in. He would prefer to dump it all down the disposal, but was also reluctant waste it all. He absently pulled a clear tub from the cupboard.

"You wouldn't happen to be hungry, would you?"

"No, not really."

"I should ask Larry."

"Dad, it's way too early for dinner anyway."

"He probably hasn't eaten all day."

He was having another absurd conversation, out of place for what was going on. He knew it, but couldn't really stop. Thinking about the stupid stinking stew or whether or not Larry had eaten (even knowing Larry's strange tendency to eat only white food) was better than thinking about other things. Unfortunately, this strange obsession probably would last only as long as it took for him to clear it up and stick the container in the freezer, where it would sit until it became freezer-burned and he could throw it away with good conscience. Maybe Charlie would even find…he coughed, and his whole body felt uncomfortable. Strange.

"Yeah, actually, ask Larry." Don clapped him on the shoulder softly. "And if you could dig out a recent picture of Charlie, that would be good."

"But the police aren't on the case," he said stupidly.

"They don't need to be. Charlie consulted for us, and chances are good it has something to do with the intelligence he knows. It's a federal case." Don took a step back toward the kitchen door. "I want to see if I can get his photo on the eleven o'clock news. I'm going to call in a few people."

With those words, Alan realized, with more finality than he'd allowed himself before, how real this was. Don wanted to put Charlie's face on the news, and it would appear with a "Have you seen this man?" caption. He put the container down and wandered back through the house. He wasn't sure if he even had a recent picture. The camera had been more Margaret's thing, and it wasn't as though he felt compelled to snap photos of his thirty-year-old son.

"Are you doing all right, Alan?" Larry said. Alan blinked; he had ended up just standing in the middle of the den. He looked at Larry, whose forehead was crinkled. "Can I get you anything?"

"Can you…no, no. I was just coming to see if you needed something to eat. The, uh, I made stew. Or there's white bread."

"Oh, I couldn't eat." Larry walked over to him. "I feel just awful about this. I should have noticed something sooner."

Alan shook his head, or thought he did. He felt…numb and slightly detached and unable to breathe all at the same time. He wondered if this strange foggy sensation would ever go away. He heard Don back in the kitchen, talking to someone on his cell and sounding calm but terse.

"No, it's not your fault. You're not Charlie's keeper."

"For the record, neither are you," Larry said softly. "The cold fact of the matter is that none of us had any reason to think something was amiss."

"I know that, and yet somehow it doesn't seem to matter." Larry nodded, remaining silent. For a second or two they stood next to each other wordlessly, long enough for Alan to feel as though he were drowning in the empty quiet. "You know, I don't think I have a recent picture of him. Don said I should get one. I don't even know where to look."

"I think I can help you with that. Every couple of years, we get new pictures for our campus identification cards."

"A good idea, Larry, but do you see his ID anywhere?" Don said, walking toward them. "His wallet's gone, his keys are gone."

_Charlie_ was gone, Alan thought, but didn't add out loud. There was no sense restating the obvious, after all. Alan tried to understand the importance of the absent wallet and keys. Since the house was locked up when he got home last night, that must mean Charlie had come back after his errand and then gone again. And this time they had no idea where he could have gone, no receipt to trace.

"I must have something useable," Alan said. "Charlie bought that new digital camera not too long ago. How does that thing work?"

"Where is it?" Larry moved from foot to foot. "I can hook it up to the computer to see if any shots are on it."

"In the other room. This way."

He led Don and Larry to the office. The camera was docked next to the computer. Larry powered up the PC and punched a couple of magic buttons Alan would eventually figure out how to use properly. Before he knew it, there were pictures on the screen. A flower. A parked car. The first trophy Don had ever won for baseball. And then Charlie's face with a cheesy grin, the camera angle making it clear he'd taken the picture himself. Alan backed up a couple of steps, pinned by the image of his son's goofy grin, absolutely terrified he'd never see it in person again.


	6. Chapter 6

_Standard disclaimer still applies._

_I'm a pint low (blood bank called, begging for my type) and it's hotter than blazes, both of which have left me woozy. Hopefully I caught everything that needed catching in this section! If not, I blame the phlebotomist._

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

The truth was, the scarcity of information Larry and Dad had been able to give him made Don very nervous. There wasn't anything of real substance to go on, and every hour that Charlie was unaccounted for was another hour that a favorable outcome became more unlikely. He suspected both of them knew that, but not the same way he did. Don could vow to let not that be how his brother's case ended up, yet it might happen anyway. He had to steel himself for that now and detach. Move on with as little emotion as possible. He wasn't really sure he could do that.

"We'll need to stay on top of the DelMarco case," Don said. Everyone stared at him. He wondered if his expression had looked like that at any point when he was at Dad's house. God, he hoped not, because his team appeared vaguely ill and slightly shell-shocked. They were good, which meant how they really felt was so much worse than they were letting on. "And, technically, it should be me who stays on it, but I can't."

"You might be too close to this, Don."

_Might be_? She also had that understanding look in her eyes, the one that said she knew he wasn't going to back off of the search for Charlie no matter what she said. Megan was correct, of course. Logically, he should hand it to another agent. But he couldn't let that happen, both for himself and for his father. Don looked at her for a second, then down at his desk. The picture of Charlie he'd retrieved from Dad stared back up at him, the silly smile serving as a motivator. And, conversely, sickening doubt. It was amazing how much he wanted to see his pain in the ass little brother smiling for real, standing right next to him.

"Might be? Yeah, I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "But I'll be okay."

"I'll stick with DelMarco," Colby said. Don relaxed a little, glad for the volunteer. "You're right, someone has to."

"Thanks, man." Don thought all of them, Colby included, would prefer to help him, for which he was very grateful. He didn't really want to give up the DelMarco thing either, not after investing so much time on it. "I appreciate it. We'll keep you in the loop."

"Won't be long and I'll join you, watch."

Colby wandered back to his desk, leaving Megan and David by his side. If he wasn't crazy, he'd bet Colby wasn't really that focused on DelMarco. The kid kept looking back toward them. Don stood up, heading for the coffee pot. He'd consumed two and a half pots all by himself over the last several hours. His sleepless night had been spent fruitlessly staring at a damned haircut receipt and that self-portrait of Charlie's.

"So," David said as Don returned to the desk, "There aren't any solid leads, but there have to be connections somewhere. I'll go to the hair place, ask around. One of the employees could have seen something, or a neighboring retailer."

"Good." Don didn't think caffeine worked on him anymore. He swallowed a burning gulp, wincing as it went down. "Megan and I will canvass the campus. Check with Larry and Amita again."

"Do you think this is a random act?"

"Maybe. I can't think of anyone who'd dislike Charlie enough to grab him."

"How much do you know about the people Charlie sees every day? And just think about what Charlie does for us in the hands of someone with less noble intentions," Megan said. "We've seen how smart some criminals are. Smart enough to figure out someone like Charlie could do them a lot of good."

Don had considered all of that before, and he didn't know anyone (besides himself) that didn't like Charlie all the time. He also couldn't make the whole criminal angle work in his head. Maybe that was because he didn't want to think about his kid brother being an instrument used to commit crimes, even on a remote, tangential level. Or maybe because he didn't think even the smartest of felons would have the first clue where to find Charlie or someone like him.

"I don't know, maybe," David said. "But _we_ wouldn't have started counting on his expertise if he hadn't mentioned a mathematical solution to a scenario himself, so I'm not sure anyone would make that connection."

That was true. Don hated it about himself, but he had never once considered Charlie might have something useful to contribute to the Bureau, or if he had he'd suppressed it because this was his arena. And now he'd been pulling away from Charlie's rather helpful contributions because of high school level annoyance. He couldn't remember the last thing he'd said to Charlie. It probably wasn't anything meaningful.

"Really?" Megan said.

"Yeah, and, man, I thought it was nuts. Here was this floppy-haired kid breezing in to solve the case with math? Right." David chuckled. The good humor faded from his expression quickly. "I'm going to get going. I'll call you guys when I find something."

David made his way to the elevator. Megan gathered her things while Don drank the remaining contents of his coffee mug. He tried not to think about that floppy-haired guy David had described as his brother. He thought Larry's assessment regarding an on-campus incident was probably accurate – Charlie wasn't one for drama, and if anything dramatic had happened, it would have been all over campus. David might also be right, though, and there might be other connections. He hoped Larry had done what he'd asked and compiled a list of anyone who Charlie had given a bad grade to or something. He hoped and didn't hope that there was actually a list to review.

"Let's go talk to the dean."

The ride over to campus was quiet, which to him was just one of two evils. He didn't feel like talking, but when he didn't talk his brain wouldn't let him stay detached. Of course, any given off-hand remark about Charlie also wouldn't let him remain the cool, professional FBI agent, either. He thought about Dad, at home alone with his thoughts and rampant imagination. As much as his job sucked right now, at least he could pretend to have some distance and distraction.

"Have you already spoken with her?" Megan asked as they got out of the car.

"No, she wasn't in yet, but I'm sure she'll see us."

Don could have made an appointment, and he was sure the dean was very busy, but he expected full cooperation. This was just a formality, a stop off to gain access to Charlie's office. He'd stopped by last night to see if it was open or to see if maybe Charlie was actually here. Disappointment on both fronts. He and Megan walked quickly, and flashed their badges as soon as they entered the dean's office. The dean's assistant stared at them, eyes wide and eyebrows crinkled slightly.

"Mr…" Megan said, glancing at the name placard on the desk. The slightly stocky man fidgeted nervously. "Rubens, hello. We're with the FBI. We'd like to see Dean Kozelek about an important matter."

"Yeah, I figured as much. The FBI doesn't stop by every day."

Not lately, Don thought. The guy had no idea how often they usually stopped by Charlie's office. They? Not him. He realized that more often than not it was one of his team checking in with Charlie and not him. An agent in charge delegated tasks like that. He was doing it again, thinking too much about how this was his brother and not a regular victim. And how he'd fallen short on his brotherly responsibilities lately.

"She's on the phone right now," Mr. Rubens told them. "I'll just go poke my head in."

"Thank you," Don said.

Mr. Rubens was out of sight less than a minute, back with the same wide-eyed expression as when he'd left. He ushered for them to follow, not speaking. Don thought he looked like the type who loved to gossip and probably had a million questions. He gave Rubens credit for not asking them for details. Word about their visit would spread soon enough. He couldn't decide if it was better to get the word out about Charlie or not. It could lead to more information, which they needed.

Dean Kozelek, looking much younger than he'd imagined, stood as they entered. She seemed as curious and alarmed as her assistant. As she sat down, her long hair fell down and obscured her face a little. When she glanced back up, Don saw nervousness in her eyes.

"I'm Agent Eppes." Don indicated Megan. "And this is Agent Reeves."

"Please, have a seat," she said. "Eppes? Any relation to Professor Eppes?"

"He's my brother, and, actually, he's why we're here."

"Oh?"

"We have reason to believe something might have happened to him," Megan explained. She sat down, but didn't relax. Don remained on his feet. "We'd like access to his office and will probably need to speak with his colleagues and students."

"Something happened?"

"Ma'am, he hasn't been seen or heard from in over thirty-six hours," Don said. His voice sounded tight. "We need to gather information and rule out anyone here as being responsible."

"No, that can't be right," Kozelek said. "Professor Eppes called me the other night and explained he needed some emergency time off. Something about his father."

"What, you've heard from him?" Don suddenly felt the need to sit down. He exchanged a look with Megan as he shakily did so. "When, exactly, and what did he say?"

"Not last night, but the night before. It was just as I was leaving the office, around six o'clock. He sounded rather out of it, actually, now that I think about it." Kozelek frowned and chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "He said he didn't know how much time he'd need off."

"Is it routine for professors to call the dean rather than their department heads?" Megan said.

"Nooo," Kozelek said weakly. Nervousness made way for embarrassment and then concern. "It's not. I was in a rush to get home that evening, and the thought simply didn't occur to me. I contacted Doctor Beam about it yesterday morning."

Don shifted on the chair. The news was unexpected, and not good as far as he was concerned. This phone call had come hours after Larry dropped Charlie off at home and was now the last known contact. It told him Charlie's disappearance was not random. It also told him that whomever was responsible wasn't that smart – the only bit of good news about it.

"How out of it did Cha…Professor Eppes sound?" he said. The call had to have been coerced somehow, he thought. No way would Charlie call work with a made up excuse and not call home at all. "Was his speech slurred?"

"No…maybe. I assumed he was upset about the family emergency," Kozelek said. "But now I'm not so sure. He sounded distracted, his voice a little stilted and almost drunk."

He couldn't remember the last time Charlie had gotten drunk. It just wasn't in his geek MO.

"Ms. Kozelek, we're going to ask that this situation be kept as low key as possible until we have more information," Megan said.

"You don't think someone here had something to do with this?"

"We can't rule anything out. We appreciate the information you've given us and will keep you informed as we proceed," Don said. "What we really need is to take a look at Charlie's office now."

"Of course. I won't tell anyone we had this conversation. As far as anyone outside this office knows, Professor Eppes is dealing with an emergency."

Don stood up. Megan said something else to the dean, but he didn't pay attention. He was too busy thinking about what kind of kidnapper would let his prey call his employer but not know he called the wrong employer? One who wanted Charlie's absence to go unnoticed but who didn't know the proper structure of an academic organization. And, he feared, one who had used artificial means to get what he wanted out of Charlie.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

_Note: Finally, a little bit of action. This section is kind of long, but I hope no one minds. I also nervously chew my lip about what's revealed and what people will think. _

* * *

Mr. Larson who lived across the street should know better than to mow the lawn before eight AM. At the very least, Charlie thought there should be a citywide ordinance about it. He mumbled an unkind word or two about his neighbor's rude timing and rolled over. Which was when he remembered where he was and that he couldn't roll over, so it made no sense that Mr. Larson was mowing the lawn at an indecent hour. For several very confusing seconds, he tried to understand what the noise he heard was and then he felt something, a touch, which made the noise totally unimportant. He opened his eyes, and remembered all.

"What?" he said, sleep-groggy. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you're awake," she said, then hummed. Continued humming, he corrected himself. That must have been what he had heard, what had pulled him from sleep. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away."

The light in his prison room was still off, but the door open. He wondered how the light shining in his face hadn't woken him up. He also wondered how long she'd been at his bedside, stroking his arm…his face…oh, God, her hand moved down to his abdomen. Charlie shivered, sucking his stomach in – a vain attempt to avoid the touch. He could never let himself fall asleep here again and he thought of the statistic he'd read when he was ten that claimed if a person stayed conscious for too many days in a row it would kill them. He didn't know if he believed it, but it terrified him almost as much as the thought of being molested in his sleep.

"I brought you some more food."

The caressing continued, inching alarmingly downward. He had no idea what to do when her roaming hand took advantage of his sucked-in stomach and eased under his beltline. Charlie twisted away, as far as he could get with his arms and legs pinioned.

"I'm…not hungry, thanks."

"Charlie, you have to keep up your strength. I won't have my man wasting away to nothing on my watch." She didn't seem too perturbed by his recoiling from her touch. He supposed he should be grateful, but all he could think about was how her hands weren't stopping. "I know you've got a little belly, but it's just that – little, like the rest of you. Every time I see you I just want to give you a hug. I wish, oh, I wish you hadn't cut your hair."

Her hand tightened a little, tangling in the band of his underwear. Charlie cringed internally. He wished he could close his eyes and pretend this wasn't happening. He was afraid to move, afraid no matter what he did she'd misinterpret the motivation behind his action. He was in that proverbial rock/hard place situation, and no matter how he looked at it the choices weren't good.

"Please," he said. "You're making me feel really uncomfortable."

Something about her had changed. The last time she was in the room with him, she had been hesitant to push him, seemed aware he did not reciprocate the fantasy she believed. Maybe the fantasizing had progressed to a point she could no longer distinguish reality, and God that terrified him more than he could say.

"You seem…I _know_ you like to take things slow." She withdrew her hand from his pants, and Charlie nearly cried with relief. She touched his face, then the hair at his temples. "Now that I've had a little time to think about it, I've reconsidered about the hair. You've still got plenty of length and curl."

Charlie nodded, glad for this tiny bit of reason in this place of unknowns. He realized he was assuming there was some kind of reason behind her words. Before, she had sounded completely rational in a completely insane way. Now, not so much. He did not like how quickly this was going to hell, or that he didn't even know who the hell she was yet. His head spun with confusion.

"It was just a maintenance cut," Charlie said. He was pleased that he sounded almost normal and in control. "I'll never be interested in shaving my head."

"Of course you won't," she said. She tugged lightly at one of the curls he had trimmed so it wouldn't fall into his face anymore. "I should have known better. I hope you can forgive me about that, just like _I _came to terms with the haircut."

_Riiiiight_, Charlie thought. The two things were so much alike. As he'd learned in his first, brief contact with the mystery woman, though, it was best to simply not answer statements like that.

"Can you maybe turn on the light?"

Having light flood the room wouldn't give him any idea what time of day it was, but he hoped it might give him at least some illusion of day and night; neverending darkness distorted time. It seemed like he'd been there forever. Plus, with the light on he would finally see who it was who stroked various parts of his body while he slept. He shuddered, unsure he was ready to face that. He vowed to not fall asleep again, again. Charlie thought his captor might think he already knew who she was based on voice alone, so he definitely didn't want to mention that figuring out her identity was one of the primary motivating factors to his request.

"It's been so long since I've seen anything but the dark. It feels like solitary confinement must feel like."

Mistake. Really bad choice of words. Her hand tightened in that already familiar 'I'm angry and could fly off the handle' kind of way. Charlie winced as several hairs pulled out.

"This is not a prison, Charles Eppes."

_In for a penny_, he thought. He couldn't not say anything forever, and the serious lack of information had him at a disadvantage. He couldn't do much, but that didn't mean he shouldn't try.

"I don't have to remind you that you, in fact, have me restrained in a dark room."

"That's only because you made me angry," she said. Her hand remained in his hair, fingers twisting a little. "I told you that already. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Charlie didn't believe her claim of spontaneity. There was, after all, no good or logical reason he should. He didn't know one single regular person who had the wherewithal to kidnap and hold someone in this particular manner without some sort of premeditation. She must have had the restraints. She had told him that her refrigerator was stocked with Ensure of multiple flavors. Unless that was all she herself ate, that nourishment was intended for a kidnap victim. _Him_. And Charlie was almost definite that she must have slipped him something to knock him from Friday all the way back to Monday, leaving him with gaps in his memory that still scared him to consider.

"I know. I know you didn't," he told her, lying through his teeth and hoping she bought it more than he bought her play of sanity. _Oh, God, Don, where are you_, he thought irrationally. His brother couldn't know who had him or why if he couldn't even figure it out himself. "The hair. But you said you were okay with that, so can you please turn on the light?"

Charlie couldn't keep carrying on with these inane conversations with this person he didn't even know. If he could see her, he might be able to do more to help himself. He had no idea what, but that wasn't the point, really. He was crippled, and blind as well. He didn't think she was ready to unshackle him quite yet, though he really hoped that would change before his other physical situation became worse. Somewhere between sucking in his stomach and having his hair pulled out, Charlie had started feeling the need to go to the bathroom.

"You're right. I didn't want to wake you, so I left it off. You look so sweet when you're asleep."

"Oh." He hated that she could see him but he couldn't see her clearly, and he _really_ tried not to focus on her petting him while he slept. It was too creepy. "Huh."

"No one's ever told you that before? You really are just the cutest thing ever. I'm so glad you're here, even if I wasn't ready yet."

As was her strange pattern, it seemed as though she wanted him to understand it would have been so much better had things gone according to her schedule, and as was his reaction before, he was bothered that there _was_ a schedule in the first place. If he hadn't ended up here yesterday (or whenever) he would have been chained to a bed next week, or next month. It was discomfiting for Charlie to realize someone had watched him and plotted and planned. He felt like he should have sensed it coming. He wondered what would have been different if it had gone according to her plan, even though it was useless tot think about. He wondered if she'd always planned to drug him. Charlie couldn't shake his concern about that bit of missing time, and how long he'd been unconscious and vulnerable to the wandering hands he now knew she had. He shook himself slightly. She noticed.

"You're chilled." Her fingers touched his face again, briefly scratching through stubble. His beard grew pretty quickly, but based on the sound of her nails flicking through the growth, he'd been here at least a day. Probably longer. She latched onto his right hand. "I have a blanket in the other room. You won't go anywhere if I go get it for you?"

She giggled, setting his teeth on edge. Her little joke was not amusing from his perspective. Charlie made himself smile anyway, counting on her relatively one-track mind to miss that he didn't mean it. His part in the rescue equation was the only one he could see clearly, and it was also the only one he knew. It was very important to make sure it didn't fail, because if it failed, everything else he couldn't see but counted on might too.

"Oh, I'll be here," he said.

She stood up and walked away, leaving the door open and the room illuminated by a light from outside. Charlie lifted his head, which no longer hurt as much, and did a quick survey of the room. It was nondescript, generic, much like his captor so far. The walls were light colored and bare. There was one window, heavily covered, a big dresser right in front of it. A small, empty closet. A chair next to the bed. The perfect little prison cell, sans toilet. He gained no useful information.

"Okay, let's tuck you in," she said as she reentered the room.

He didn't react to her over the top ministration. She used covering him with a blanket as an excuse to touch. Charlie could put up with that if it meant he'd ultimately be covered and therefore protected a bit. She wrapped him in the blanket like a mummy. For a change, he was actually glad he was tied up. She couldn't turn him and grope his backside that way.

"Better?"

He _had_ been cold, he realized. Charlie nodded and thought about asking for the light again. She'd relaxed enough to leave the door open, a definite improvement to the spotlight she'd shone in his face before. He just didn't know.

"Good. Are you sure you're not hungry?"

He was. The part of his headache that hadn't gone away was probably due to lack of food. Charlie swallowed and decided it wouldn't do him any good to refuse to eat, and would essentially mean he wasn't holding up his part of the equation. He wanted more than a chalky Ensure shake, though. If…when he got out of this mess, he was going to tell Dad every single day how much he appreciated the cooking. Dad had to be going out of his mind right now.

"I could eat," he said. His bladder told him it wouldn't be a good idea to put anything else in before something came out. "But I have to use the restroom now."

"Oh," she said. "Hmmm, how are we going to do this?"

"I'd prefer if it was just me doing it." Reasonable, he thought, and he hoped she'd respect his wish for privacy. "If you don't mind."

"You're shy."

"Something like that."

"I'm just not sure…" she said. "You're still skittish."

He couldn't figure her out. She apparently knew she was holding him against his will, yet at the same time seemed to think they were good friends. She needed help almost as much as he did himself.

"I'd probably be a lot more comfortable if you untied me."

"You have a point," she said. "I know you won't run out on me like everyone else does. You're too nice for that."

"I promise," he lied. "Just, please, let me up so I can go to the bathroom."

He had this thought that perhaps his part of the equation was more than just hanging on until Don and the others arrived. He never just sat around and waited for a problem to solve itself; he rolled up his sleeves and started tackling it head on. This was an opportunity to gain information…and possibly to regain his freedom.

"Okay."

A swirl of adrenaline and nervousness tingled in his stomach. The air was cool against his body, even through his clothes, when she drew the blanket off of him. It felt good, vitalizing. She cautiously unclasped his right wrist. Charlie glanced down, noticed the cuffs were the padded leather kind he imagined would be used in a psych ward in a hospital. Strangely fitting in the situation. He'd been too panicked to notice before.

"You managed to abrade yourself even with the padding," she said sadly. "We'll get that taken care of, too."

She held on to his right hand, fingers entwining with his numb ones, while she undid his left hand. Charlie ignored it when she squeezed his hand tightly, neither responding nor pulling away like he so desperately wanted to. He didn't think she would hurt him, but since he still knew nothing about her, he couldn't take his hypothesis as proof.

"That would be nice." He coughed, throat suddenly dry. He had to do something. He had to. Could he? "I was a bit disoriented the first time I woke up."

"I'm sorry about that, but it had to be done." She let go of his hand and focused on undoing his ankles. He thought it would be a good idea to kick her in the face. He didn't. "I could tell you were nervous around me and I needed to settle you down a little. You can be a bit high-strung, sometimes, you know that, Charlie?"

"My brother tells me that sometimes," he said. My brother who is going to find you, whether I get out of here on my own or not, he thought. "He often thinks it's his job to tell me to calm down."

"He's visited you on campus. I've seen him around. You can sit up now." Despite the adrenaline in his system, Charlie's muscles were uncooperative. That had to change, and soon, if he was really going to do this. The bathroom had to have a window. "He doesn't have the same verve as you. It's sad, because he's handsome, too."

"Don has a lot on his plate." Like tracking down drug dealers and assassins and kidnapping stalkers. Charlie wasn't sure how he was managing to talk about everyday things like this, and was acutely aware of how crazy it was. Anything to keep her calm and happy. "He works for the F…ederal Express Corporation."

His heart pounded. He didn't know how much she knew about his family, but it was a fair bet she didn't have a clue his brother was a federal agent, or she would have expressed concern. Charlie sat up shakily, careful to be meek to the point of subservience. It wasn't very tough to pull off at all. He had to be sure this would work before he tried it. A good start would actually be seeing the bathroom. With his luck, they were probably on the eighth floor of an apartment complex.

"You're weak," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You need to eat more to keep up your strength."

He hated running, but he thought running would be a much better way to keep up his strength. His body was starting to get with the program, but his brain told him to just wait it out. Gather data first, leap out windows last.

"I don't really like Ensure that much. It's too chalky," he told her. "I would love pizza."

She wrapped an arm around his back, snugging her hand against his side. Together, they stood up. Charlie squinted as they walked toward the door, the brightness of the artificial lights from above coupled with the natural light streaming in from windows somewhere within the house…no, apartment, startling to eyes accustomed to dark. It was no surprise to him when they passed a living area with empty walls and beige furniture, a nondescript home. He looked over for his first good look at her. She looked familiar, yet not at the same time. Nameless. Invisible.

"It's too early for pizza, don't you think? I'll see what else I might have while you go, y'know." She ducked her head and blushed a little. Her plain brown hair shielded her face. Charlie thought of Larry for some reason. "But you have to leave the door open."

He nodded. If she was going to go to the kitchen, he might have enough time. To lock himself in the bathroom.

"You don't seem surprised," she said. He stared at her, alarmed by the intenseness in her murky hazel eyes. "To see me, I mean. For a while, I thought you didn't know who I was."

He shrugged, drawing away from her slightly in what he hoped she saw as an indication he had started to feel his legs and arms again. The best answer Charlie could give her was a sheepish smile. She seemed pleased by it.

"Here's the bathroom. You can close the door most of the way, but not all." She let go of him, watching as he walked through the door. All he could see was the barren whiteness of the room and the small window, high on the wall next to the toilet. He squinted, his eyes not quite accustomed to natural light yet. He thought he could fit through the window. "And Charlie?" He looked back at her. She stared down at the floor. "I'm so glad you're here."

She looked up again, tentatively, and smiled at him. He finally recognized her. Front row, low-dimensional topology. Alisen Lancaster, average student. Nothing spectacular, but not terrible. She never participated in class. Now that Charlie knew who she was, he remembered how in class she would always look away when he glanced in her direction. It was the only concrete thing he could recall about her. He frowned a little. Alisen closed the bathroom door, but only partially. She left a good fifteen inches of open space.

Charlie waited until he heard her go down the hall and he could no longer hear her footsteps, then he moved. He closed the door softly, not wanting to attract her attention to his movements. He turned the lock mechanism and let himself breathe for a second or two, waiting to see if she'd noticed. His skin prickled and itched and he really did have to pee. He unzipped and put the toilet seat up. It would only take a minute, it would be okay.

Once he'd relieved that need, he put the seat back down and flushed. Charlie climbed on the seat and reached for the window. He wasn't exactly known for his upper body strength, but motivation and adrenaline surely had to help with that. Still, hefting himself up and out was going to take a fair amount of muscle power and despite adrenaline, he'd spent who knew how long strapped to a bed.

"Charlie, do you like…" Alisen shouted, probably from the kitchen. Oh, not good. Her voice got closer. _She_ got closer. "Charlie! Charlie, what are you doing? I asked you to keep the door open."

The doorknob jangled slightly. Charlie swallowed a couple of times.

"I'm sorry, I'm really shy," he said. He didn't even believe himself.

"What are you _doing_?" she said again. Something clattered to the floor. Then the door started rattling as she pounded against it. "What are you doing?"

_Getting out of here_, he thought. Charlie couldn't wait to be rescued, couldn't waste the opportunity to free himself. He unlocked the window and slid it open as far as he could, standing tiptoe on the toilet seat. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins now, and he was as confident as he could be that he'd be able to manage this. He jarred the screen loose. Charlie hoped with all his heart that there was a way out on the other side of that window. He grasped the sill and half-pulled, half-crawled his way up the wall. The pounding on the door behind him was violent now. He thought he heard splintering wood. He didn't look. He had to get away. He was so close.

Charlie breathed in relatively fresh air for the first time in a very long time, and was relieved to see he was only on the second floor. His left foot banged against the toilet paper dispenser. He used it as a toehold, and it helped push him further up until his elbows now rested on the sill. He was there, he'd done it. His joyful disbelief lasted all of five seconds, because that was when he heard the bathroom door slam open. Felt scrabbling hands on his thighs, pulling and tugging and costing him his faltering hold on the window and freedom.

"You're no different!"

One last tremendous jerk came to his legs. He fell backward, and as he did so Charlie thought he had made a big mistake in this equation. Then his right elbow smacked against the sink, pain ricocheted through his arm, and finally his head crashed against the hard tile of the bathroom floor. It bounced up slightly and concussed again. The last thing he saw was the horrible, inescapable dark reclaiming his life once more.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks, everyone, for sticking with me! More Alan angst (and, don't worry, slight forward movement as well). I have to admit I find this chapter slightly cheesy. I know, way to sell it. To warn you, it's probably due to the very teeny hints of ship. I don't do ship. ;)_

_Recap: Charlie's been taken by an Utter Nutter. Everyone else is trying to put together pieces of the puzzle._

* * *

After so many hours, Alan still hadn't figured out what the parent of a missing person was supposed to do with his time during the long and painful wait for news of _any_ kind. He didn't want to think about bad news, but didn't know how to not do that except to stave those thoughts off with more positive ones. And he had to say that while he had unwavering faith in Don's ability to do his job, knew that one way or another Charlie would be found, the positive thoughts were becoming more and more difficult to cling to. He wished he had something to do besides sit around and think.

He looked at the clock for the one-hundredth time since Don had called him in the morning. At least he thought it had been morning; there had been no sleep for him last night and time blurred. The strong scent of coffee filled the house, but it was no more welcome a smell than the beef stew had been yesterday. The caffeine already slithering through his veins made him jittery but didn't really do much to take away his sheer exhaustion. His body wanted to sleep, but that was something he wasn't going to let it get until this was all over. He couldn't, not knowing what could be happening to Charlie at any moment. Alan changed his gaze from the clock to the New York Times crossword spread out before him. The black and white boxes seemed alien and wrong to him, and they started crossing each other. He shoved the newspaper away, running a hand across his face, rubbing his weary eyes.

He stood up, paced the kitchen a couple of times. He thought a slow jog might make him feel better, at least for a little while. He could use the energy and concentrating on one foot in front of the other on the pavement always helped clear his mind. Alan stretched his arms out as he walked toward the stairs. He had to pass by Charlie's bedroom to get to his own, and he couldn't seem to help himself. He stopped at the doorway and looked in, as if he expected his son to somehow be there. The bed was the exact rumpled mess it had been yesterday, perfect in its disastrousness. He chuckled a little, remembering how Charlie had never liked to make his bed when he was a boy. It used to drive Margaret nuts, one of the few habits of Charlie's that did.

The jog all but forgotten, Alan entered the room and sat down on the edge of Charlie's bed. He glanced around the room. It wasn't filled with sports trophies like Don's old room. It wasn't filled with math awards, either. Aside from the clutter that was characteristically Charlie, the room was of stark design. He wondered why he'd never really noticed that before, though it wasn't like he really spent much time there. He stood up and started stripping the sheets off the bed.

When Charlie got home, he'd probably appreciate clean sheets.

Alan got halfway done when he was overcome with an intense need to scream. Or cry. He sat back down on the bare mattress, arms full of sheets that smelled of Charlie and just…sat there. He couldn't move and didn't know where he'd go, anyway. He couldn't do anything really useful. He hugged the sheets to him. If he washed them, they'd lose the smell of Charlie. Now he didn't know if it would be better to wash them or not and felt stupid for hesitating. Charlie _was_ coming home.

The sound of someone knocking on the front door saved him the final to-wash-or-not-to-wash decision. He shook his head and rose to his feet. He wasn't expecting anyone. Don would call with information, not come over. Unless…Alan raced down the stairs and to the door. He should have realized when Don wasn't standing in the foyer that it wasn't him, with Charlie in tow. He should have realized he was having a whopper of a pipe dream. He opened the door. Amita stood on his front step, looking all of fifteen and frightened.

"Sweetie," he said. He'd never called her that before, didn't know why he just had. He didn't even know her, really, mostly from what Charlie had mentioned. Her dark eyes filled with tears. "Come in."

"I couldn't…I couldn't seem to get myself to campus today," Amita said. She sounded as distressed as she looked. Her normally smooth curls were a mess of frayed, loose tangles. Her shirt was wrinkled and her unneeded makeup haphazardly applied. "I don't mean to intrude. I just can't believe this is happening."

He wanted to issue words of calming wisdom, for himself as much as for her. Maybe even more.

"Neither can I," he said, and his voice cracked. "As real as it is, it doesn't seem that way, somehow."

Amita nodded and moved through the door. Once inside, she stood in one place and just looked around, searching every corner. Alan knew what she was looking for, since he had vague memories of doing the same thing at about three AM. Hell, he'd just done it up in Charlie's bedroom. He also knew that Amita wouldn't find what she was looking for, that it wasn't up to them to find it. To find something that would help find _Charlie_. Knowing, in this case, did not make him feel any better and he was fairly certain that was true for her as well.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I can't remember the last thing I said to him," Amita told him absently. Alan saw now that her smudged makeup only enhanced the shadows that were already under her eyes. "I've been trying to, but I just can't. I didn't see him all week, so it must have been 'good-bye' or 'have a nice weekend' or something like that. Wouldn't you think I could remember?"

Finally, there was something he could do. Alan pushed the door, let it slam shut as he walked over to Amita. He didn't really know her well enough for more than polite conversation; she was Charlie's friend, his would-be girlfriend. But right at this moment, Alan knew her very well, and this horrible thing intimately connected them. He pulled her close and hugged her. The human contact was a welcome relief, one he hadn't even known he'd been missing. He gained as much as he gave in the embrace.

"You couldn't have known," he said, knowing the words were inadequate. He didn't remember the last words he'd spoken to Charlie; he remembered the last words he'd spoken _about_ Charlie and they weren't ones he was proud of. "There was no way to know this was going to happen, so why would you think about it?"

"I don't know," she said into his chest. She was so small compared to him. Not too different from Charlie's size, he thought. He squeezed tighter. "It's just so unbelievable. I don't know what to do, Mr. Eppes."

"Call me Alan, Amita." He had told her that before. He told almost everyone that. "I prefer to be called Alan. It lets me cling to the illusion that I'm not an old man."

Her arms shifted around him and she turned her head to the side. He patted her back a couple of times. Nothing had changed, but Alan felt just a little bit better. He hoped the hug had the same effect on her. Amita sniffled a couple of times. He stared at the tissue box on the other side of the room.

"Hey, are you going to be okay now?"

"I should be asking you that, you know."

Alan almost bluffed away the gut wrenching fear that felt like it'd never go away, but then he realized she had her ear on his heart, and the heart never lies. So he didn't say anything and just let the hug last a few moments longer. It was Amita who finally pulled back, looking slightly less like she could fall into a million pieces right there on the floor. Alan was glad for her relief, though it didn't really lessen the emptiness inside himself.

"I can't say if I'll be okay or not," Alan said. He rubbed her right shoulder, then finally let go of her altogether. "I can't stop thinking about what could have happened to him. I wish I could do something besides wash Charlie's sheets so they'll be fresh if he comes home."

"If he comes home." Amita's face did a quick crumple and she looked away. Before she did, he saw new tears in her eyes. "You said if."

Alan faltered back a couple of steps, until the back of his legs hit the arm of the sofa in the den. He sat down on it. He hadn't meant to say if. When. He had meant to say when. And this time it was Amita who hugged him, draping herself across him and laying her head on his shoulder. She sniffled a little, and his own eyes filled with reciprocal tears. He could still see the hands on the face of the clock. It had been forty-two hours since Charlie disappeared. Thirty since he had thought about anything else or slept. He shook slightly as he tried to keep himself from crying outright.

"I meant when," he whispered, his throat tight. "Donnie will find him, I know that. I should have said when."

"I know."

"The thought of Charlie out there, in God knows whose hands, I can't…I…who would want to hurt him?"

"Everybody loves Charlie," Amita said into his ear. He sensed she meant that to mean she loved Charlie, but she didn't say it. He was grateful for that discretion, the words not something he needed at the moment. "Even those who are jealous of him can't hate him."

His face was hot and wet. Alan had failed to keep the tears in his eyes, but he suddenly didn't care. He needed this release even more than he'd needed a simple hug or two. The not knowing was killing him bit by bit. As unbearable as it was to watch Margaret waste away before his eyes, and as much as he missed her and looked for her every single day, to not have any idea what might have happened, what could still happen, he corrected, to a loved one was a different horrible kind of pain.

"He does have a certain kind of charm," Alan said. His voice was thick, strained. "I know he's got at least one secret admirer."

Amita stiffened and pulled back a little. She looked him in the eye, color rising in her cheeks. She was really lovely, he thought, even in a messy state like this. Alan was reminded yet again why Charlie was so gone on her. Brains and beauty, an irresistible combination. That was a weakness Charlie had definitely inherited from him. He allowed himself a small smile. Maybe it was okay to focus on that for a moment. Goodness knew he tended to butt in on his sons' romantic (or lack of romantic) lives.

"I was pretty sure that wasn't so secret anymore." Amita's blush deepened. "If anything happens to him…"

"Oh, you left him that note?" Alan was genuinely surprised. Note-dropping didn't seem Amita's style, even from what little he knew of her. "Why didn't you just tell him those things face to face?"

"Note? What are you talking about?"

"The, uh, the one Charlie found in his office a couple of months back. Something about liking his hair," Alan said. Amita blinked at him a couple of times. He scrubbed at his face. The tears were drying and starting to itch. "The one Larry suggested Charlie fingerprint…back when Don was helping that actress or whatever with a stalk – "

"Mr. Eppes, that wasn't me. I didn't send Charlie any notes."

Amita backed away from him as he made to stand. Secret admirer. Stalker. It could be a fine line. Something besides emptiness started bubbling in his gut. Had Charlie received any more love notes from this mystery person? Surely he would have said something about them if that were the case. Still, Alan had to wonder if there wasn't a connection. It certainly was something Don should know about. As worrisome a thought it was, he also thought it had given him the slightest spark of hope.

"Mr. Eppes, what's going on?"

"I don't know," he said. "I need to call Don. Someone was taken with Charlie enough to send him a message of secret love. Maybe this wasn't about using Charlie for some criminal intent, or about anyone hating Charlie. Maybe this was simply about someone liking him a bit too much."

"Oh, God," Amita said. She looked shell-shocked again. "_Everybody_ loves Charlie."

He hoped that Don had his cell on. This might be nothing, but it might be everything and he had to put the bug in Don's ear. If he knew his son, he'd be on campus right now, digging for any type of clue as to Charlie's whereabouts. He hit the number and waited while it rang. Amita walked in small circles in front of him. She looked like she was still processing what he'd told her.

"_Eppes_," Don said into his ear tersely.

"Donnie, it's me. Listen, I think I might have an idea," Alan said.

"_Someone did this intentionally, Dad. Charlie called the dean the night he disappeared, made up a story about a family emergency. The head of the math department forgot to put out a sign to say Charlie's classes would be cancelled until late yesterday. If Larry hadn't stopped by…_"

"What? That doesn't make any sense. Why would Charlie call work but not me or you?" Alan shook his head. He was getting caught up in what Don had to say, when he had his own things to say. "Remember back a couple of months ago, that stalker case that turned out not to be a stalker case that you were working on?"

"_Yeah_," Don said. "_Dad, I know you want to help, but I've got a lot of people to interview here_."

"Listen to me. About that same time, Charlie got a note from a secret admirer. Ask Larry, he'll tell you. Don, what if this person had something to do with this?"

"_What, you mean like someone might be obsessed?"_

"It's possible, right? You can look into that. Find Larry. Ask Larry."

"_Yeah, Dad. Thanks, that's good…worth checking out,_" Don said. "_I've got to go, I've got another call coming in. Could be important, about Charlie. I'll call you when I know more_."

Don hung up on him. Alan knew it wasn't to be rude, but that his son had leads; he'd had that determined edge to his voice. He glanced at Amita, who'd stopped moving and was just watching him. Adrenaline now mixed with caffeine in his bloodstream and he fidgeted.

"Don's going to find him soon," Alan said. He believed it, truly, for the first time in a great number of hours. "They've already found suspicious activity on campus. Someone there had to have something to do with this."

For the third time in the scant few minutes since Amita had entered his home, Alan hugged her. This time, though, there was less fear and more excited hope behind it and it only lasted a couple of seconds. She smiled at him, her eyes losing a bit of their scared darkness.

"Then I guess I'd like a cup of coffee. And I could help you wash the sheets," Amita said. "For when Charlie comes home."


	9. Chapter 9

_Whew, didn't think I was going to make it. I forgot that my boss at my second job was on vacation this week, so I've been putting in extended hours. There are only three short parts left after this one. :)_

_Oh, and I figured out how I ended up nudging toward ship. I suffer from Mustincludeallcharactersitis. Seriously, whatever I write, I always feel like I have to include everyone to some degree, which makes it difficult when I don't particularly care for characters (eg, Jo, Ellen or Ash in Supernatural fandom). In hindsight, my preference would have been to up Colby's participation and lessen Amita's. Nothing against her, per se, I just...like Colby more. Anyway. Enough blathering from me._

_Thanks so much for reading!_

* * *

"So, what?" Don said. "You're saying you just _forgot_ to post a sign notifying students of Professor Eppes' unexpected absence?"

Don wanted nothing more than to reach across the desk and manhandle the guy sitting on the other side of it as much as he'd wanted to strangle skinny stubborn little Kenny what seemed like forever ago. Charlie was no slouch in the ego department, at least when it came to math, but this guy was a total ass and Don was in no mood to deal with it. He had no choice.

"The students who attend CalSci are not stupid, Agent Eppes. If a professor doesn't show up, they figure out there isn't going to be class. I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance."

Yeah, Don bet he was sorry. The jerk didn't even appear all that upset to hear Charlie had, in fact, gone missing and wasn't dealing with a family emergency. Charlie didn't deal with family emergencies. Anyone who knew him the way a department head should know his staff knew that if the emergency had been real and big enough, Charlie would probably have been in no state to make a phone call to his employer. This guy sitting across from him, smug and unsmiling, raised his hackles.

"Doctor Beam, you don't seem concerned about your colleague's disappearance," Megan said. She laid her left hand out flat and waved it for only Don to see. _Oh, he was calm_, he thought. He clenched his jaw and nodded slightly. "Any reason why not?"

"I'm not happy, if that's what you're trying to get at," Beam said. "I'm the sort who keeps emotion on the inside. I can assure you, I find this all to be very alarming."

Megan nodded. Don kept glaring. It was increasingly difficult to contain the calm. His emotions were off the charts. Maybe he shouldn't be so annoyed by Beam's detached state so much as emulate it. Damnit, his kid brother was out there in the hands of someone he just knew wasn't firing on all cylinders. And even if they were, his brother was out there in someone else's hands and for purposes that could not be good and there was no _way_ he could not be affected by that.

"Doctor Beam, how often do you see Professor Eppes through the course of any given day?" he said, no one more surprised than himself that he managed to sound professional.

"We see each other quite often."

"Ever notice anyone paying unusual attention to him? A student, another professor? A janitor?"

"No, I'm sorry. Until the dean told me to have someone hang the notification, everything was normal as far as I could tell." Beam finally had the heart to show a bit of emotion, his face softening just a touch. It didn't make Don feel any more relaxed. "I really _am_ sorry."

"Thank you for your time," Megan said. She took out a business card and slid it toward Beam. "If you remember anything that might be useful, or just anything at all, please let us know right away. Time is rather of the essence."

"Of course."

The interview, such that it was, was over. Don rose to his feet, out the door before another word could be spoken. They were spending too much time getting too little information. He hoped at least David was coming up with something, even if it was whisper thin. As if on cue, his phone rang.

"Eppes."

"_Donnie, it's me."_ Dad was probably going nuts at home and was looking for information himself. Don hadn't called to keep him in the loop. Not that there was a loop. _"Listen, I think I might have an idea."_

Don didn't really pay attention, suddenly spouted a long list of frustrations as if he couldn't stop himself. He understood his dad's need for reassurance, but he didn't have much to give and he didn't have much time to give it. Dad rambled into his ear, something about a secret admirer who might actually be a stalker.

"Yeah, Dad, I know you want to help, but I've got a lot of people to interview here."

"_**Listen**__ to me,"_ Dad ordered. Don knew the tone of voice very well. It was like he was ten years old again. He straightened his shoulders and listened. _"About that same time, Charlie got a note from a secret admirer. Ask Larry, he'll tell you. Don, what if this person had something to do with this?"_

"What, you mean like someone might be obsessed?" Don's mind raced.

That would actually explain some things, but this was a big campus. It could still be anyone, though Don thought they could start with Charlie's department and work outward. He looked up and down the hall, staring at passing students. The task was going to be daunting regardless, and his gut told him it would take too damned long. Call waiting clicked into his ear.

"_It's possible, right? You can look into that. Find Larry. Ask Larry."_

"Yeah, Dad. Thanks, that's good…worth checking out," Don said. It was and he hated brushing his father off, but like so many other things lately, he had to do it. "I've got to go, I've got another call coming in. Could be important, about Charlie. I'll call you when I know more."

Megan stepped out of Doctor Beam's office. He raised his left pointer finger as he disconnected Dad to pick up the next incoming call.

"Eppes."

"_Don, it's David."_

"What have you got?"

"_Not much. The manager remembers seeing a girl seemed to linger around the front of the store sometime on Wednesday, but said that happens a lot. He didn't notice anything specific about her appearance – average height, average weight, average length brown hair. He had no recollection of Charlie."_

"Okay," Don said. "We figured that was probably a dead end."

"_No, no. The salon manager didn't remember anything, but the guy who cut Charlie's hair remembered him, called him the guy with the numbers. He also caught someone at his station right after Charlie had a trim. Get this, the person was collecting hair."_

"What?" Okay, that was creepy. It looked like Dad's secret admirer tip might be pretty valuable after all. The little bit of luck was just what he needed. "As in taking tokens?"

"_Yeah_," David said. _"It sounded real creepy to me. The guy said he got a good look at her. Average height, average weight, average brown hair in desperate need of a style."_

"That's…not very helpful." He glanced at Megan, who was watching him intently. "But it's something. We've got a lead here that actually might fit with it. If you're done there, you might as well join us."

"_I'll be there as soon as I can_."

He clicked his phone shut and put it away. Megan looked at him, but didn't prompt him like he knew she wanted to. The pieces seemed to be coming together pretty quickly. He wasn't about to complain about that. Forty-some hours was a long time for anyone to be missing, let alone Charlie. Don clenched his jaw together tightly at the thought of some stupid, obsessed girl being the cause of all this. _No_, he thought, _he was wrong_. A young girl with a fixation couldn't possibly cause nearly as much hurt as criminals intent on getting whatever information they wanted out of his brother. There was a good chance they'd find Charlie and he'd be just fine. He tried not to think about what Dean Kozelek had said about Charlie sounding out of it when he'd called.

"You caught most of that?"

"Yeah," Megan told him. "I think so. Possible stalker?"

"My father called while you were still in there, mentioned Charlie had received some kind of weird love notes a while back. Could be the same person the folks at the hair place saw. It's not much, but it's something."

"I have Charlie's class rosters and the keys to his office. Doctor Beam was kind enough to give them to me."

"Great." He took the files from her. "Do you know where Larry's office is?"

"Yes."

"Go see if he's there and if he can join us. Dad said he knows something about this secret admirer slash stalker. I'll go to Charlie's office. I don't know if there'll be anything there, but…"

"I'll meet you there with Doctor Fleinhardt."

Megan took off immediately, her strides long and fast. He followed suit, heading straight for Charlie's office. He took a look over the list as he walked. Charlie's classes were popular, and the ratio of male students to female was about 60/40. For now, he thought they could ignore the males on the list. He remembered Larry mentioning staff photos for ID cards, thought there might be something similar for students. If he could weed out the average looking girls with brown hair, they'd really get somewhere.

The office door was closed, and it was dark inside. Don took a deep breath and reached for the key Beam had handed over. He let himself in, flicking the light on. Charlie never cleaned up his office, which drove Don nuts even if he never said anything; he didn't like to leave the office without tidying up his desk. Not so with his brother. Scraps of paper littered the entire surface of the desk. Problems with numbers, letters and funky symbols covered the blackboard and files sat in stacks on various flat surfaces. Several framed certificates and awards of Charlie's accomplishments hung crookedly on the wall.

Don smiled sadly. He'd missed all of this, he realized. It was his brother epitomized, and it was actually _Charlie_ he'd missed. Damnit. He shook his head. This was no time to wallow. He circled around the desk and started opening drawers. He didn't know why he expected them to be orderly. The drawers were simply smaller microcosms of the office itself – complete chaos. He picked up an unwrapped stick of gum, fuzzy with chalk dust and lint, wrinkling his nose at it. He didn't recall Charlie ever chewing gum, so who know how long that had been in there. Finding nothing of use, he closed all the drawers and headed for the nearest filing cabinet.

"Don." He turned and saw Larry enter, Megan right behind him. The normally twitchy man was no different now, except perhaps even twitchier. "Agent Reeves informed me about the possibility Charles' secret admirer could be behind these events. I wish now that he had followed my suggestion of fingerprinting the note then."

"Oh?" Don tapped his fingers on the metal cabinet. "Why didn't he?"

"He wanted to respect her privacy," Larry said. "And I think he wanted to keep the mystery a mystery."

"I wonder what would have happened if he had found out who it was," Megan said. "If he had said something to her, maybe that would have been enough to allay her…further fascination with him."

Truthfully, Don didn't care. That wasn't important because it was something they couldn't change. What was important was finding that girl and determining whether or not she was responsible. And then finding Charlie, changing whatever was going on now. He held up a hand.

"Did he keep the note?"

"Yes, he filed it."

"Any idea where?"

"You're certainly in the right spot." Larry walked over to stand next to him. "Unless he moved it, it's in this filing cabinet. Top drawer."

Unfortunately for them, Charlie's filing system wasn't really a system so much as it was a bunch of papers stuffed in folders. Don split the overflowing papers up into groups and handed off two of them to Megan and to Larry. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and started sifting through the remainder of the files, standing next to the cabinet, while the other two shared desk space.

"It would help if we knew what we were looking for," he commented.

"If I remember correctly, it was pink. The note was relatively small in size."

"Standard love note stalker fare," Megan said with an amused tone he knew she didn't really mean to be funny. "Do you really think one of Charlie's students would be capable of just taking him off the street?"

"A determined person can overcome many obstacles, Megan," Larry said. "Look at Stephen Hawking."

"Yeah, but…" Megan stopped. Don hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, but he noticed when the chatter ended. He looked up. "I've got it."

Larry leaned toward Megan, squinting slightly. He nodded and glanced over at him. Don needed no further prompting. He abandoned his files and joined them.

"Or rather…them," Larry said. "Charles didn't mention he'd received other notes."

Damn. There were ten of them, identical in shape, size and color. Megan pulled the rest of them, breezing through the contents. Don didn't think he really wanted to know what they said. He could tell from her facial expression that he didn't.

"It's not something Charlie would have probably picked up on, but whoever wrote these became increasingly disconnected from reality. Don, in her mind she and Charlie were probably a couple. She could be seriously unstable at this point."

"Now we only have to hope we find someone's fingerprints on one of these, besides Charlie's," Don said. He took the first note from Larry, read the note quickly. It wasn't that bad. He ignored the rest of them. "Low dimensional topology and his lovely dark locks, huh?"

"There is no accounting for attraction," Larry said softly. He cleared his throat. "I swear I will _never_ tease Charles about his hair again."

"She mentions his hair in…three other notes. Something as simple as Charlie getting a haircut might have set her off," Megan mused.

"Yeah, but that means she followed him. How else would she know about it and grab him on the same day?"

"Am I the only one who finds that prospect worrying?" Larry said.

"No, you're not."

Don knew in his gut this was the person they were looking for. He pictured Charlie carrying on with his daily life, unknowingly being watched every step of the way. He didn't know how someone like that wouldn't be noticed, if not by Charlie, then by Larry or Amita. They were the ones who saw Charlie the most often, and while Larry was as scattered as his brother, Amita was very observant. She would have noticed if another girl had been paying Charlie a lot of attention, even if it was subtle.

"Average height, average weight, average brown hair," Don said. "He probably didn't notice her."

"I know Charlie isn't a big guy, but how likely do you think it would be for an average woman to take him out?" Megan said.

His stomach did that flippy, turny knot thing. _He sounded distracted, his voice a little stilted and almost drunk._ He already didn't buy Charlie as a drinker, but now he knew for sure. Charlie wouldn't drink in the middle of the afternoon, especially not if he was supposed to teach a class later in the evening.

"Charlie's an easy mark. He wouldn't want to be rude, so if someone approached him looking for, say, help with an assignment he'd given out, he'd go along," Don said. "This girl probably knocked on his damned front door and he went with her without a thought."

"So how did she get Charlie to make up a story and call the dean?" Megan shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. "By that point, he would have known something was wrong."

"Ever smoke pot, Megan?"

"I'm not sure I should answer that."

"I think I understand where Don is going with this," Larry said. "Just as determined people have been known to do amazing things, people on drugs have been known to respond very well to suggestions and do some very stupid things."

"It might have been stupid, but it was also pretty damn smart. As susceptible as Charlie was to suggestion, he could have realized that the instant we heard about it we'd know something was going on."

"Whatever the case, I'll gladly take this to see if we can get any prints off of it. We can run it against the school's records right here, " Larry said. "In fact, I think I had already reached this conclusion before you arrived."

Don spared Larry a small smile. Procedure dictated the chain of evidence go through the FBI, but if the evidence was already processed… Megan shook her head at him, a slight frown on her face. He'd pay for breaking protocol later. Right now, his primary concern was finding his brother.

"Don, I don't know about this."

"Don't worry, this is all me. I'll make sure you don't take any heat for it. The sooner we can get a name and address, the sooner we can track this person down and ask her a few very specific questions."

He'd missed out on the chance to take out his ire on Kenny and again with Doctor Beam. This girl wouldn't be so lucky. If she turned out to be the real deal, he was going to have _words_. He did not care if she was a woman. Anyone who messed with his family had to deal with him. Screw being detached and professional. Megan caught his arm as he started to brush past her.

"Hey," she said. "You really going to be okay with this?"

"Yeah, just great." He slammed his palm against the doorframe. "I'm pretty sure _someone_, if not this girl, grabbed my brother and drugged him. Who knows what else they might have done in the meantime while I've been sitting around getting nowhere? So, yeah, I'm fantastic."

He followed Larry down the corridor, feeling Megan's eyes on his back. She'd do her best to keep him distanced from the suspect once they found her, Don knew. As she should, especially if something had happened to Charlie. He heard her begin to follow as well. They were close. Larry seemed confident that it shouldn't take his friends in the lab long to dust the note, and definitely a matter of minutes to compare it to the school's database. They were working with a much smaller sample than anything the Bureau would. Larry trotted down the stairs and headed for the exit, jumping when the door opened just before he pushed on it.

"Doctor Fleinhardt." David squeezed into the building, sliding against the wall when Larry didn't stop moving. He looked up the stairs in confusion. "Whoa, what's going on?"

"Possible suspect," he heard Megan say. "Doctor Fleinhardt can help us print a note Charlie received some time ago from someone who apparently has a bit of a crush on him. Might be our person."

"Shouldn't we take it back to our lab?"

"Charlie's been gone almost forty-five hours," Don called back. "I'd say time was of the essence. Besides, Larry here beat us to the punch."

No more was said. David would catch up. If Don had to retrace his own steps, he'd have no idea where Larry had taken them, only that the lab they eventually ended up in had state of the art equipment in it, and was occupied by several people who looked like they knew what they were doing. He let Larry take charge, standing out of the way while activity flurried through the room. Don already knew that the person who matched the print would be a woman of average height, weight and features, a girl who was apparently invisible but always there. But the invisible girl had to have a name.

"Thank you, Doctor Stokes," Larry said. "We've got something!"

Don moved closer, peering at the computer screen. The girl staring back at him didn't seem capable of anything as sinister as stalking and kidnapping. Her eyes were soft, pained, even in a still photograph.

"Who is she?"

"Alisen Lancaster. She's in several of Charles' classes, was last semester as well. Her grades are –"

"I'll wager a guess. They're average," Don said. "What's this girl's phone number, her address?"

Doctor Stokes started clattering away at the keyboard. Don's cell rang. He contemplated not getting it. He withdrew it from his jacket pocket and stared at it for a second. He sighed and flipped the phone open.

"Eppes."

"Don, it's Colby."

"What? I thought you were handling this DelMarco thing."

"I am, but Don, I just got a phone call…from Charlie. He was actually looking for you." Over the phone, Colby's voice came across as agitated. "He sounded bad, man. I couldn't keep him talking, but the line didn't disconnect. I had the call traced."

Charlie. Bad. Those words rattled around his head for a few seconds before the rest of Colby's message made it through.

"Give me the address," he said sharply.

"4867 Lariat Road," Colby and Doctor Stokes answered him in unison.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for the delay! Life kind of bombarded me this week, and any hours I didn't spend working I spent sleeping. Thanks again to everyone who's stuck around to read this story. After this, I've got two short sections I think I'm going to mash up into one post._

_But for now, let us see how Charlie's doing..._

* * *

Charlie Eppes was convinced he was dead, though since he'd never been dead before he wasn't sure what it was supposed to feel like. He briefly considered it might not feel like anything at all, therefore he couldn't be dead because if he were, then he would feel neither the tremendous pain in his head nor be able to think in any hazy. He had vague memories of a simple equation he had to solve and also…being tied to a bed and overwhelming darkness. He turned his head to the side, which immediately caused pain to rocket not only through it, but also down his spine, arms and even his legs. Just everywhere.

Oh, God. His stomach did not escape the torment. Charlie gagged and heaved as his stomach felt like it turned itself inside out, but there was nothing in it for him to vomit. He was glad for that, but his gratitude didn't help with the additional shockwaves of pain retching caused. Through the horrible tintinnabulation in his ears, he thought he heard someone or something that sounded like it was in a great deal of distress. He wanted to help, he really did, but he just couldn't move. Even breathing hurt, but he figured with he shouldn't stop doing that. Charlie cracked his right eye open.

That was a mistake. Bright light assaulted him, feeling almost physical. Charlie closed his eye again. Maybe by the time he sorted out his brain his body would be in a better place. Somewhere, still sounding as though from a great distance, he could still hear the poor creature, strangled sounds that would have made him wince in sympathy had he not figured out how bad it was to move in even the smallest ways. He didn't know where he was, but he was pretty sure it wasn't tied to a bed. Whatever he was sprawled on, it was hard and cold.

The fingers of his right hand twitched slightly, and _that_ made his whole arm jolt in agony. Charlie whimpered, and that was when he noticed two things: his throat was sore and the sound he'd just made sounded an awful lot like those he'd heard since waking. He whimpered again. Yes, he was responsible for the pitiful sounds.

"Mmmmph," he said.

He flitted the fingers of his left hand around, keeping the movements as bare as possible. The primary sources of pain seemed to be his head and his right arm. His head was the worst. Along with the pain, it felt as though he were falling down a deep hole, spinning and spinning. Charlie swallowed and tried to push that unpleasantness aside and focus on what his fingers told him. The material beneath his fingers was tile, small squares of it. Like a bathroom. Like the bathroom…window. He'd tried to climb out the window, and that had blown the whole equation.

"Alisen?" he said. He considered it an improvement in his situation that he'd managed to utter something besides frantic moans, even if it sounded warped and wrong in his head. There was no reply. He wasn't sure he had expected one. Hours and hours of dark and alone and help, help, someone help. He didn't know what to do, lying here on the cold floor and helpless. Without help. Help. His head hurt so much. Something must have happened to him. He couldn't remember, though. "Urgh…Don."

His brother would know. His brother always knew. It seemed like forever since he'd seen Don. Charlie didn't want to move, but he couldn't lie around all day. He had class to get to, didn't he? No, he didn't, that wasn't right. He wasn't locked in the dark anymore and he didn't know why but he didn't care. He opened both of his eyes this time, just a crack, and made himself keep them open even when the light was intent on stabbing at him. Tears made everything bleary…blearier. Something was wrong and he'd figure it out if his head would only stop pounding. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and take a nap.

Okay, no. He couldn't do that. Why not? Ohhhh. The ceiling swirled and weaved, like he was looking up from the bottom of a pool. He was drifting, floating. Spinning. Charlie's stomach turned. It felt like this all had happened before. He lifted his right arm off the cold floor and gurgled with sheer misery. Thoughts of napping vanished, replaced by the all-consuming throb of an abused elbow…and head. Alisen. Bathroom floor. Fall. He needed to pull himself together and Don, call Don. Focus on that, he told himself.

"Get away, get away, call Don," Charlie said. Now he sounded dead, or dying at the very least. He choked out a quick sob. "Get away, call Don."

It became his internal mantra, because he couldn't talk anymore. Repeating it kept his hold on the very confusing reality of his situation tentative but there. Charlie rolled to his left, trying to swallow the bitter acidic contents in his stomach. Apparently it hadn't been empty then. Empty now, he thought as he heaved the mess out onto the floor. Hit his head. Fell hard. The numbers that were always in his head were gone now, and all he could see was white and bright and wrong. It must have taken some doing – he couldn't remember – but he ended up on his left hand and his knees. His right arm was on fire, his head a pressure cooker.

There was something else that he saw now amid the white, a dark blur right in front of him. He squinted, couldn't figure out what it was. Didn't matter. Get away, call Don, call Don. Help. Charlie put his left hand out, numbly searching for something to give him leverage. He wasn't sure what it contacted, but he didn't care. Even on his knees, his head felt as though it was going to roll right off of his shoulders. He sucked in a deep breath, saw gray fuzz at the edge of his vision, and stood up on wobbly legs. He took one step and buckled. Both arms flailing, he groaned and collapsed to the right, elbows hitting the bathroom countertop.

"Nnngh," he groaned.

The gray fuzz became black fuzz. He bit his tongue, adding one more hurt to his short but not insignificant list of injuries. He breathed heavily, and the blackness encroached further and further into his vision. Charlie looked up and around, startled to see movement in the room, behind him. In front of him. Somewhere. His heart started pounding even harder. He squinted at the shape, aghast to realize it was his own reflection. Mirror. He looked…terrible.

Phone, there had to be a phone there. Where was Alisen? He made himself push away from the counter, made it to the door. Rested some more on the frame. His legs shook, felt like an earthquake raged beneath his feet. Right or left. He looked, for what it was worth, down the hallway. He thought maybe he might remember the path to the left, so he went right. Followed his bum arm. God, his head hurt. He saw the beige, plush arm of a sofa or a chair. He aimed for it, would love nothing more than to rest his head there. Sleep. No. Nono. No sleep. Phone. Call Don. Tell Don…something important. Nothing made sense. One plus one was six. Wrong. The numbers weren't his numbers. Getting harder to think. Think. Think.

His legs bumped into the beige blob. He blinked, confused, feeling like he'd missed more time. He looked down. It was a sofa, thank goodness. Charlie stumbled, fumbled around with his left arm to keep contact with the sofa. Sat down. His legs quivered as if he'd just completed a marathon. He didn't know whose house this was. Everything was cold and colorless and without character. It wasn't his house. Alisen. Alisen, he reminded himself. Call Don. Don was at work. Always at work now. He looked around the room, trying to discern objects through his watery eyes.

It was on the table. In front of him. Charlie leaned forward, losing what little balance had allowed him to get as far as he did. He landed on his butt with a thud and no longer felt anything but a faint tickle in his injured arm. His head still heart, though. Two plus two was seventy-five. He frowned. The horrible sad (dying?) animal noise was back, barely audible but there and disturbing. He dropped his head down and rested it on the table, reaching for the phone with his good hand. No more resting. He looked up. His eyes weren't watering anymore, but he still couldn't see well. Everything wavered. He started to dial stopped. No, no. More numbers. Two plus one equals three. Two one three, one one six, two two seven five. Call Don. The phone rang forever.

"Granger speaking."

"Not Don," Charlie said. Don was two two seven one. "Wrong number. The numbers are wrong. "

"Who is this?"

"The equation didn't work." Oh, shit, the animal (him, him) was dying, sounded terrible. Wrong. Wrong numbers. "Simple math. Wrong."

"Charlie, is that you?"

"Yes," he said, surprised by the question. "But this is wrong. Where's Don?"

Spending too much time talking to the wrong person. Charlie pulled the receiver away from his ear. The person he thought he knew but had accidentally called was still talking. He tried to disconnect. His arm was limp, wouldn't cooperate, and he suddenly noticed the phone looked so far away. Tunnel. Long tunnel. Dark. He slumped forward, his forehead cuffed against the coffee table, and then he saw the carpet, every fiber strangely clear. He closed his eyes and couldn't open them again. He couldn't tell if it was the ringing in his ears or the tinny voice on the phone. He faded.

"Oh, God. Charlie."

Something grabbed his shoulder, squeezing tight as a vise. Pulled him through fog. A hand in his hair, on his face.

"Get the paramedics in here! Charlie? Charlie, come on, open your eyes."

Would rather not.

"We need you to stand back, sir."

"Don, the apartment's empty. He's alone here."

Don? Don?

"I have to admit, I don't really care about that right now."

That was Don's voice, so far away. Hands probed at him, gentle but too rough. He moaned, deep in his sore throat. Charlie tried to worm away from them, but the hands kept him in place. He gasped as a finger contacted the base of his skull, striking through him, jerking him toward full consciousness. Don was here. He needed Don. One eyelid was peeled back, bright painful light. The other eyelid, same bright light. He heard words like 'laceration' and 'blown pupil' and 'possible fracture' and 'hairline elbow.' None of them mattered and one of them made no sense at all. Don was here. The equation wasn't wrong.

"Duhn," Charlie said.

"Hey, buddy," Don said. "We've got you. You're okay now."

"Sir, I'm sorry, we're not quite finished here."

"He's my brother, damnit."

Charlie scrunched his face up. Don was upset. He opened both of his eyes. It took a great deal of effort. A strange face peered back at him, brown skinned and blue eyed. Not Don. He blinked slowly. The face got closer, and it frowned at him.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"Don?" The frown deepened. "Where's Don?"

The unknown person shuffled away, sliding from his line of sight so quickly Charlie thought he saw residual blurring. It made his eyes hurt so much the pain radiated back through his skull. He moaned, couldn't help it. Another blur, another moan. He stared at the recognizable face now floating above him.

"Don."

"Charlie," Don said. "You're going to be okay, you hear me?"

Okay. Charlie just kept staring. He wasn't quite sure this was real. Don reached forward, touched him on the cheek. He had a flash of someone else doing that, and hating it. This was different.

"Hey, answer me. You're okay."

"Nnnuh," he said. Charlie was pretty sure he wasn't okay at all, but he didn't know why. He couldn't seem to form words anymore. "Whu…slee."

"Don't try to talk," Don said. Through the haze, Charlie saw a pained expression on his brother's face. "Just take it easy. You're going to be fine."

"Sir, we need to get him to the hospital now."

Charlie closed his eyes. More hands, all over him. He moaned, and then one of the hands cupped his cheek. Don. Don was there. It was okay for him to sleep now.


	11. Chapter 11

_At last, the end is here! Thanks to all for reading, and if I haven't replied to reviews yet, it's because I'm L.A.Z.Y. I will soon, I promise. Until then, I am going to go be one with my sofa._

* * *

At the moment, Alan couldn't decide which urge was the strongest – the one to vomit, the one to sob with relief, the one to laugh manically. He had expected those things to fade with the passage of time, but as he sat there staring at the still form of his youngest son, the unwelcome urges and emotions kept bubbling to the surface. Fortunately for everyone, he was too damn exhausted to do any of them, and so he just sat and waited. Just like he had done for those hours he didn't know whether Charlie was alive or dead. He hated it then, and now wasn't really that much better. It felt as though the question of Charlie's life or death was still very much up in the air.

The doctors kept _saying_ Charlie's continued unconsciousness was a matter of his body needing to restore itself after what was evidently a trying couple of days of very little sleep and even less food. The dehydration was probably the cause of his intense reaction to head trauma, they had told him. Everyone seemed quick to assure him that everything was just fine, but his eyes told him otherwise. Charlie had always been a hyperactive child. Always moving, always thinking and this current state of utter stillness unnerved Alan like nothing else. Even Charlie getting lost in the numbers wasn't as upsetting, because he understood that just a little bit more now. He touched the top of Charlie's hand. It was cool to the touch.

Alan had been alone for hours now. The hospital staff had kicked Larry and Amita out promptly at the end of visiting hours and he was certain they had wanted to enforce the rule with him, but he flat out refused to leave his son's bedside. It would take a lot more than an order to move him, as long as his presence in the room wasn't negatively impacting Charlie's well-being. He hoped the opposite was actually true, that if his son heard familiar voices he would find some comfort amid wherever darkness surrounded him.

"You should see the flowers Amita brought for you," he said softly. He stroked his thumb along the knuckles of Charlie's cool hand. "They're as beautiful as she is. They sure brighten up this room."

He sighed. The only thing about talking to someone who couldn't respond was…the whole not getting a response part. Alan had to and hated to admit he was getting disheartened. He reluctantly let go of Charlie's hand, resting his elbows on knees and cradling his face with his hands. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. He knew it was irrational, but he worried that if he left the room for too long or simply took his eyes off of his son, he'd miss something important. What that important thing that was, he didn't know. Movement, perhaps. Right now a twitch of an eyelid would be the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

"Have you slept at all?"

He sat up in his chair and looked toward the sound of the voice. Don stood at the door, lingering there as if uncertain of his welcome. Alan waved a hand, ushering him in. The doctors could gripe if they wanted, but there was no way Don was going anywhere, either. As he entered, Alan assessed his conscious son just as closely as he'd been watching Charlie not move. Don looked so ragged he really didn't have the right to pester anyone else about getting sleep, no matter the concern behind it. He decided now wasn't quite the appropriate time to make his own commentary. He figured Don had been working hard before Charlie disappeared, and hadn't had any sleep since. At least he himself had the benefit of normal sleep before all of these horrible, sleepless hours.

"Off and on," he replied at last, lying his tired butt off. Alan didn't plan on sleeping until he knew for sure Charlie was okay, and by the haunted look in Don's eye he could add his oldest son to his list of sleep-depriving concerns. "I'm still going on caffeine, I think."

"Yeah, caffeine, the legal wonder drug. I know that feeling." Don smiled, but didn't look like he really meant it, or that he believed Alan's fib. He tipped his chin toward the bed. "Has he woken up?"

"No." Alan sighed and rubbed his forehead. "The doctors keep telling me that's normal, but it's still nerve-wracking. He hasn't shown any signs of improvement. Then again, he hasn't shown any signs of worsening, either. That's something."

"He looks so young." Don cleared his throat. "Younger than usual, I mean. He doesn't really look like himself when he's like this."

"No, he doesn't."

Don stood at the foot of the bed for a second, before slowly circulating. He found a place to sit on the windowsill. There was probably another chair around outside they could drag in. Alan thought about suggesting that, but figured his son knew what he wanted. He had this overwhelming urge to coddle Don now, which was probably reaction to stress coupled with his own natural need to hover. Neither of his sons would probably appreciate coddling, Don less than Charlie. He stared at Charlie's limp hand, studied his lax, unshaven face. The urge to coddle made way for a darker, unhappy emotion.

"Find the girl?" he said.

Alan had been granted the barest of briefings, mostly assurances that Charlie hadn't been hurt before the…apparent accident while trying to escape. He didn't know if he really believed it. It was alarming to see some mistreatment had occurred before that, though maybe not the kind of abuse that left bruising. A relatively slight man deprived of food for a few days showed the signs. He randomly thought about the damned beef stew in the freezer, how it would stick to Charlie's ribs, which he desperately needed.

"No. It's like she vanished into thin air. Took off and left Charlie like that," Don said, anger very apparent in his tone. Alan glanced up and caught his son mentally replaying what had to have been a grueling scene. He could see it in the tightness of the lips, the tiny tick in his jaw. "Just left him lying on the floor."

_She probably thought he was dead_, Alan thought with a shudder. He couldn't say that out loud.

"She was probably scared," he said instead.

"Don't defend her, Dad."

"I'm not," he said, but realized it had sounded that way. He envisioned this faceless girl enraged. Violent. "I just…I'm glad she was just scared. She could have been something else. Something worse."

"Yeah, because a stalker isn't worse."

No one had told him anything beyond Charlie's medical condition, but he wasn't an idiot. Whatever had gone down must have been pretty bad. He imagined Charlie lying on the floor, unresponsive and pale, and he shuddered. Alan sneaked another look at Don, who wasn't looking at him but, not surprisingly, had his eyes fixed on Charlie. He didn't have to see son's eyes to know they were as dark and haunted as they'd been when he first arrived. Probably more so. He'd seen that look far too many times. As grateful as he was to have Don rejoin their lives, it was sometimes painful too, to bear witness to something he could no longer cure with a band-aid and a kiss.

"You'll find her." _You'll move heaven and earth_, he thought. "She's just a college student."

"I won't actually be doing much of anything. I'm officially off the case." Don looked at him, apparently saw the surprise on his face, and shook his head slightly. "Not entirely by choice. My superiors finally caught wind of what was happening. Breaking the rules isn't something they take lightly, even if it's family. _Especially_ if it's for family. But it's okay. I know David will handle it and keep me apprised. We were lucky they didn't reassign it out of my team completely."

Alan nodded, didn't ask the question about the magnitude of the ramifications Don faced. Whatever happened, he was glad his son had been able to find Charlie. Don might not always appreciate Charlie, and vice versa, but he knew that buried in that frustration was a whole lot of tenderness and affection. He knew his sons loved each other even if they didn't always like each other much. He was actually relieved Don would have the time to deal with it all, and besides, the most important thing had already been taken care of – Charlie. Now if only that most important thing would wake up. He looked at the clock. It'd been twelve hours since his race to the hospital. He was becoming an expert at keeping track of time. And at worrying.

"It was scary, Dad," Don admitted. He moved to stand by the bed again, extending a hand to lightly run a finger along Charlie's immobilized right arm. "Seeing him like that, I mean. I've seen people with concussions before, but this was…this was Charlie. I'm not used to him being so confused and vacant. It was really scary."

The need to hug filled Alan again. Don didn't often let any of what lurked beneath his surface up to see the light of day, and to see it was to feel it himself. He didn't want to envision what Don had seen, what had scared him enough to make him admit it.

"Hey, no dwelling," Alan said, playing his part as father. He had to be confident and allay his kid's fears, ignore his own for the moment. "You got to him in time. He's okay. He'll be okay."

"Yeah, I keep telling myself that. Wish he'd wake up, though."

They fell into silence again. Alan leaned back in his chair, tipping his head against the back of it. He was so damned tired. Now he didn't want to vomit or sob or laugh anymore, he just wanted to sleep. He was afraid to let himself do that before Charlie opened his eyes, though. He made himself sit up, then stand. He went over to one of the many flower arrangements clustered on a small table opposite the bed and toyed with the baby's breath. The distraction didn't last long. As had been the case for the ten plus hours he'd sat in the hospital, his attention returned to Charlie. He had this crazy idea that if he stared long enough, his son would wake up. It wasn't the first time he'd had that idea. It hadn't worked yet. He yawned, and spotted Don glaring at him.

"Like you should talk, mister," he said. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Yeah, I have. What about you?"

"If I tell you you're both handsome devils, will you shut up?"

Alan blinked at Don. Don blinked back at him. Then they both pushed closer to the bed and saw Charlie staring at them groggily. Alan hadn't seen such a beautiful pair of brown eyes since the very first moment he'd met Margaret.

"Look who's joined the land of the living." He touched Charlie's hair, then cupped his cheek. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

"Confused," Charlie whispered, voice a mere fraction of what it should be. He squinted as if the dim light of the room was the sun at glaring down at noon. "And my head feels like it might have exploded. What happened?"

Alan reminded himself that the doctors had also told him slight memory loss was to be expected. He glanced over at Don. It would be some time before Charlie was really, truly Charlie, but knowing that it would happen sometime soon didn't really help with the now. Alan gave his son his best reassuring smile.

"That is a long story, and one we'll tell you later, okay?"

Charlie nodded at him, wincing. Despite the obvious discomfort, he turned his head slightly and looked at Don. He didn't say anything, just watched his sons stare at each other for several long moments.

"I think…I think I remember some things…a girl I should know but I don't think I do." Don clenched his jaw so tightly, Alan could see it from across the bed. "A dark room. A light room. Beige."

"Hey, what did Dad just say? Don't try to force things, just take it easy. We'll talk about that stuff later."

"I remember…" Charlie said, ignoring Don. "Knowing you'd find me. Where was I?"

Don's face crumpled just a tiny little bit, from guilt or embarrassment or something Alan would definitely follow up on later, but then that expression made way for a small smile. He doubted Don knew his tell was so obvious. He should let them have a moment, and take the time to go get the doctor. He retreated quietly, turning back to take in both of his sons. They looked comfortable with each other in their own way, prompted and accentuated by unusual circumstances. Things were going to be just fine. In fact, Alan predicted the drought of Don in his and Charlie's recent past was about to come to an end.

At last, something Alan could smile about.

* * *

"I just don't see why you're making me do this," Charlie whined.

"The same reason your mother and I made you eat your peas when you were little," Dad shot right back at him.

They had been informed by the doctors, and Don knew from previous experience, that anyone who'd suffered a moderate (it was at this point where he disagreed with the doctors' diagnosis – Don thought major, but then he was biased when it came to his family) head trauma was likely to live with side effects for days, and possibly even weeks after the incident. It wasn't a surprise to him when Charlie could offer no details of his abduction, for instance, his mind wiped clean pretty much back to getting his hair cut. Loss of memory, lingering and recurring headaches, irritability…those were all unpleasantly expected.

"Because it's good for you." Charlie snorted, and Dad chuffed out an unamused laugh in retort. "Keeps your brain nimble."

"Give me a couple of good old fashioned proofs to work on to keep my mind nimble, _Father_."

"Ah, but how would I know if you were really comprehending anything?" Dad tut-tutted a couple of times, Don suspected for effect. "This is better."

"Yeah, except I have never in my life comprehended these."

"Be quiet or give me a seven letter word for pain in the ass."

Don watch with part amusement, part sadness. Charlie was still pale, too thin, and seemed to think it was fashionable to go unshaven. He didn't have the heart to tell the guy that scruff didn't really disguise the grimaces of pain or the continuing gauntness of his cheeks. He had long suspected part of his exasperation in working so closely with Charlie was the ever-present awareness that he could, directly or indirectly, put his kid brother in the line of danger. It would haunt him for a while to know it didn't matter. Shit could happen to Charlie anywhere, anytime whether or not Don was involved. And it hurt him just the same, a fact that was kind of alarming.

"Seven letter word…what does it start with?" Charlie asked with all sincerity.

"I've got a C and an H at the beginning."

"Huh."

"Oh, and look at that. An A, R, L, I and an E at the end."

"Ha, ha."

It wasn't that Dad wanted to be mean, Don knew, but that Charlie responded better to the good-natured ribbing than he had the hovering. Dad had hovered. Larry had hovered. He admitted he might have hovered at first, too. It took them far too long to figure out Charlie's irritability increased exponentially based on how much worried attention they gave him. So, good-natured ribbing it was. Whatever worked, he thought, it was just damned good to have this back. He couldn't remember fully how he'd let himself get so out of shape that he avoided his family. He liked his independent life, but didn't think he was in a hurry to go back to it just yet.

"If you insist on making me exercise my brain in this manner, you should at least play fair," Charlie said.

"He has a point, Dad," Don said, finally entering the verbal fray. "He really does suck at crosswords. Maybe you should play Scrabble instead."

"Oh, that's next on the list," Dad said.

Charlie glared over at Don, which would never be as intimidating to him as Charlie evidently thought it was.

"I hate you."

Don smirked and went back to reading the Sunday paper, letting the sound of his dad and his pesky kid brother bicker fade into the background. He couldn't really concentrate on the words. He used the paper as a cover to watch the antics. It had surprised him a little that Charlie didn't want to know many of the details of his kidnapping, but it also kind of relieved him. What David and Megan had discovered, what they shared with him at any rate, wasn't the worst thing he had ever heard…but at the same time it _was_ the worst thing he'd ever heard. Alisen Lancaster had turned out to be a wholly forgettable individual, undistinguished in her academic life and a veritable black hole when it came to a personal life.

He shook his head. It didn't matter, he told himself for the millionth time. Thinking about things like "Great Wall of Charlie," as David had called Alisen's shrine to his brother or the roofies that had indeed been in her possession, only made him upset. Which was why he was off the case, he reminded himself. He still couldn't believe it, but he'd even remained backseat with the DelMarco thing. He had been due time off, and suddenly work just didn't seem as important and all encompassing as it had a week ago.

"C'mon, Donnie, put down the paper and join us."

He looked up and saw Dad really had gone for the Scrabble board. Charlie looked downright miserable. Don supposed he could at least lend a little moral support to the kid. Plus, while he was no wordsmith, Scrabble was one of the few things he was better at than Charlie, brain trauma or no. He tossed the paper aside and sauntered over to the table. He noticed that a tiny bit of the shaved spot from the back of Charlie's head poked through the curls. He scratched it lightly with his fingertips as he passed by.

"Hey," Charlie said, ducking out of the way. As with any sudden movement lately, it produced a slight grimace.

"Sorry." Don winced sympathetically. He sat down and absently started fiddling with the tiles. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah." Looking up, Don saw Charlie grinning at him like a total goon. "Hands off the follicles."

Charlie reached around to the back of his head self-consciously. The doctors had been pretty good with the shaving, as if they had somehow known they were dealing with someone suffering from severe hair vanity. He would have been more amused with Charlie's preoccupation with the shaved spot on his skull if he didn't know that part of the shrine of pictures they'd found in the apartment included the hair clippings Alisen had snagged from Great Clips. One more thing Charlie didn't ever need to know about, or the poetry. He wondered if the girl had intended on sending even more of the love notes or if she'd been working on a friggin' anthology to dedicate to Charlie.

"You can hardly tell, Charlie," he said softly. "In a couple of weeks it'll be unnoticeable."

His brother flushed slightly, two bright spots high on his otherwise pale cheeks.

"All right, you two," Dad said with a slight cough. Don turned and shared a glance with him. His dad's eyes said 'let's not get too deep.' Deep only made things awkward, and Charlie was too unsteady for deep anyway. "Draw your tiles and prepare to be whupped."

"That sounds like a challenge to me. What do you think, Charlie, could today be your day to beat Dad at his own game?"

"Only if we don't count for accurate spelling," Charlie said miserably.

"Sounds like buddy-boy here is back to his charming old self, doesn't it?"

Don chuckled and picked his tiles. He drew a whole bunch of nothing. Just his luck. Charlie was up first. He plonked down the first, very impressive word – CAT. Don sat for a moment, looking at his tiles and then at the board. His offering wasn't much better. He added his HAS and M to the C. And then his phone started ringing. He rolled his eyes at the twin scowls he got from Dad and Charlie, and pulled the cell from his pocket anyway. Caller ID said it was David.

"I should take this. If my turn comes around again, skip me."

Don had told David not to bother him unless there was more news about Alisen Lancaster. Megan said it was unlikely that the girl would pose another threat, and even if she did they now knew of her existence and what she looked like, but it didn't matter. As long as she was out there somewhere, he'd always have that worry at the back of his mind. He gave Dad and Charlie an apologetic shrug and walked out of earshot.

"David," he said as an answer. "What have you got?"

"Nothing good, man, I'm sorry. I've never seen anyone disappear so completely and so quickly. It's hard to believe this girl is just a college student. She moves like a pro."

"What?" He did not like the tone in David's voice at all. "What are you talking about?"

"They're calling it, Don. The case is dead at this point as far as the Bureau's concerned. They don't want to spend the resources on something so small."

Don lost focus for a minute or two, seeing nothing but fuzz. So small. He glanced back into the den and saw Dad chuckling at the dismayed face Charlie was making. The hell his brother was _so small_. The higher-ups might have closed the door, but it was not over for him, not as long as Alisen Lancaster was still out there.


End file.
